Blade's Edge
by l0litapop
Summary: Sent to Palanthas in exile, Sikeen Tirmedhi is a contract killer who will do anything to escape the Tower of High Sorcery. Raistlin/OC, no slash!
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I'm not sure there's much of an audience for Dragonlance fic, since the fanbase seems a little quiet online, but reviews are loved and I hope you enjoy this, whoever you are!**

**b - l - a - d - e' - s - - e - d - g - e**

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"What of the girl?"

"We can't execute her."

"Exile, then."

"She'll escape any escort. She'll take a false name and return, as she did before."

The Conclave spoke in hushed whispers, heads bowed together. They deliberated the fate of the wraith-like elf confined to thick steel bars not more than five yards away. She sat on the floor of the cell, ankles bound together, wrists secured to the wall behind her, a gag stuffed between her teeth. There were more indeterminable murmurs from the group as she rolled her eyes, uncaring. It didn't matter what they did with her now. She'd live, either way.

"We could send her to Palanthas," said a voice.

"None can escape through the grove," agreed another.

"_He_ still lives there. And Dalamar," argued a third.

"I doubt if indecency is a concern of ours, with him," scoffed a fourth.

Palanthas? That was where the High Mage Raistlin lived. They'd send here _there?_ To her, it seemed excessive, if not uncomfortable. She'd heard the stories about his toxic nature and horrific appearance.

The conversation faded again and Sikeen leaned her head back against the cold wall, growing impatient. The chains restraining her against the wall were old, and she was sure with a little maneuvering she could have escaped them. But with the most powerful mages in Kynn within earshot, there was no way out of the cell.

Hours seemed to go by as they argued. Finally, another figure joined them. In the dim light, Sikeen could barely make out the red hue of the newcomer's robes. After a brief moment of listening, the red-robed mage approached the cell, standing before her. It was a woman – perhaps forty – who spoke, met with Sikeen's eerie stare.

"You have been sentenced to indefinite exile in the Tower of High Sorcery of Palanthas," she said. With a word Sikeen didn't recognize, several bars from the front of the cell fell to the floor and the woman entered. Before she could barely stir, the red-robed mage produced a leaf from her sleeve and pushed it against her exposed neck. Immediately, everything went black.

| - - : - - x - - : - - |

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed between her time in the cell and when she awoke. Uncharacteristically bleary, she managed to sit up just in time to overhear another tense conversation.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Her vision didn't seem to clear, no matter how much she blinked or rubbed at her eyes. Was it nighttime still? Growing concerned, she focused on making sense of the words spoken around her.

"She is for your service. Do with her what you please. She must not leave the Tower."

"You've already sent me one apprentice. Have I earned subjection to another?" There was then a hoarse cough.

"She is no apprentice. Do not, under any means, allow her to escape the Tower," repeated the red-robe.

Inside, the current apprentice peered through a window at the balcony below, watching this exchange with growing discomfort.

The Master of Past and Present resisted the urge to attack this nameless mage, undoubtedly sent by the Conclave. Without another word, the intruder turned around and boarded the massive winged beast she'd appeared on. It was with fuming disdain that he watched her coast easily over the Shoikan grove. These tower balconies were truly a weakness, he decided.

Several moments passed during which Raistlin heard a drop land on the marble floor. Suspiciously eyeing the newcomer, who still lay slumped on her knees, he retreated to the safety of a broad awning. She remained curled up in a heap under her gray velvet cloak. With another wheeze, he swept back into the tower and called for his apprentice.

"Dalamar!"

"Shalafi." The dark elf's reply was instantaneous, from the other side of the would-be sunroom, had Raistlin not insisted on the curtains sealed shut at all times. At night, it was especially gloomy, lit only by candelabrums spaced several feet apart along the walls.

"Bring her inside," commanded the mage. He was already well on his way back to his bed-chambers, the highest rooms in the tower. Tomorrow, he would figure out what to do with the girl.

Dalamar, meanwhile, cursed the rain as he rushed out onto the large balcony, all but dragging the heap of gray cloth inside. With the balcony doors shut safely behind her, Sikeen finally began to come out of her stupor. Eyes no longer rolling back into her head, she shook the massive hood off, revealing black hair. The points of her ears poked through, pale skin in contrast to the darkness around them.

The apprentice was taken aback. She was an elf.

"Who are you?" Still struggling to find her tongue, her reply came as barely a mumble.

"Let me leave," she said, remembering what the red-robed mage had said. Slowly, her senses began to restore themselves. Dalamar paced around to properly see her face.

"_Who are you_?" he repeated. Upon closer inspection, it was clear that there was something amiss about this one. The elves he remembered from home were traditionally beautiful – all with flowing, straight hair, even features, and _manners_, on top of that. The newcomer, on the other hand, was sickly thin, and it was clear that the dry bits of her hair were unkempt and wavy. Her skin shone with an eerie, marble-like tone, far too pale. But the strangest part about her was her eyes. Large and orb-like, in the dark they glowed light blue like an animal's.

She barely resembled an elf. And now, she glared mercilessly at him.

"Sikeen Tirmedhi," she said, as clearly as she could. "Let me leave."

"Shalafi was just told not to let you leave," replied Dalamar. Her frustration was a bit amusing – she'd clearly been put under the effects of some magical drug to be transported here. But why? She shifted slightly and the sleeves of her robe fell away from her hands, revealing the tightly-wound rope that restrained her. So that was why it had been so difficult to get her to move. She was drugged and bound. "Is there a reason why the Conclave deemed you necessary of restraint?" he asked, taking a step toward her. Gods, mages were pretentious. Sikeen had never liked them.

But it occurred to her that for the time being, she was stuck here. The best course of action was to cooperate with Raistlin Majere and this Dalamar fellow and eventually convince them to let her leave. She could figure out a way through the Grove later.

"I've committed a crime. A mage turned me over to the Conclave, and they sent me here as punishment." This was truly amusing. The Conclave decided the Tower of Palanthas, where both Raistlin and Dalamar lived – willingly, at that – was the best place to send someone for exile.

It made _some_ sense, at least. She could never get through the Grove, Shalafi's spectral minions would surely terrorize her if given permission, and it was perpetually gloomy. But why not send her out of the country, if exile was the necessary course of action? Or to prison?

"What sort of crime?" he asked, still trying to decide if setting her free of her bonds would be such a good idea. Judging by her wraith-like appearance, he wasn't led to believe she was capable of causing him harm. But appearances could be deceiving.

In response, she grinned wickedly at him, water dripping from her lashes onto her cheeks.

"I won't harm you," she said innocently.

"You're not capable," he decided, rolling his eyes. Whatever she was capable of, it wasn't magic. If it were, they wouldn't have sent her to a tower of sorcery as punishment. Therefore, Shalafi and he were more than able to handle her. He reached for a blade he'd left on one of the low tables in the sunroom and slowly sawed through her bonds, completely missing the bizarre stare she fixed on the dagger's surface. When he was done with the ones on her wrists, her hand shot out with lightning speed and snagged the dagger from his fingers.

Dalamar jumped slightly, concerned out of reflex. A knife was a weapon, and Shalafi wouldn't appreciate him using magic outside his permission, even if it were for self-defense. But Sikeen didn't harm him, as she'd promised. Instead, she pulled the gray cloak up to her thighs and expertly sliced through the rope around her ankles. Her legs, noted Dalamar, were just as pale and sickly as the rest of her. But she had some skill with the blade.

The rope had left deep marks on her ankles. Around the marks, her flesh was swollen and slightly purple, and from the grooves in her skin blood sprang to the surface in small cuts. How long had she been tied up? Sighing, he stood over her and watched as she assessed the damage to her bony ankles.

"I don't believe I can extend much hospitality to you," he said, truly unsure. She was not his guest, after all. This was not his tower. It was Shalafi's. The constant deference to his master usually didn't bother him, but right now he was forced into rudeness without taking permission from Raistlin.

"I don't need your hospitality," spat the girl, using her wet cloak to wipe at the blood. Dalamar, out of pity, ignored her comment and swept into the stairwell. Shalafi would have to handle this. It was out of his domain.

To his surprise, he was already in the stairwell, the light of the Staff of Magius illuminating the dark corridor. As he passed down the stairs, he once again spoke to Dalamar over his shoulder.

"Your racket has awoken me," he hissed, entering the balcony room. In reality, he hadn't had a chance to sleep at all. Curiosity had overcome him.

When the door opened once more, Sikeen didn't look up, assuming it was Dalamar returning with word from Raistlin. But when the tower master's whispering voice reached her ears, she bristled.

"So the Conclave has sent me another elf," he said, bitterly amused. Sikeen had to force herself to look at him. As much as mages irritated her, she harbored a fear of their power. And this was Raistlin Majere, the most powerful mortal being. Willing herself not to shake, she turned to meet his infamous eyes.

In the darkness and the shadow of his black hood, it was difficult to discern the alleged hourglass shapes of his pupils. Covered by his robe, he seemed fairly normal to her. But he was taller than she'd expected, which only intimidated her further. Pushing her fear to the back of her mind, she spoke.

"Sorry to disappoint," she said evenly, forcing a smirk.

Raistlin eyed her carefully as he paced across the room. He, too, noticed the odd things about her appearance. Aside from this, the fact that she was an elf was more of a mercy than anything. She aged only slightly in his eyes, but her already sickly appearance made for a strange "older" elf. With age, she would only become more frail, her pale eyes appearing to expand into blue globes as her cheeks sunk further. Her skin became paper-thin, the color of fresh snow.

"Are you ill?" he demanded, peering down at her. Dalamar recognized the same wicked grin spread across her features. If she feared his Shalafi, he could not tell.

"I am not," she said, as if she were used to being asked.

"Why do you not stand?" His connotation was clear to both Dalamar and Sikeen – _"Why do you not stand in my presence?"_ He eyed her ankle, raising a pale brow. She looked away, her pride preparing for damage. She'd now have to admit to her injuries.

"Out of fear that my ankles may give out, Master Raistlin," she said, her grin fading into an apologetic smile.

"You will call me Shalafi, elf," he said, kneeling before her ankles. "You speak Silvanesti, do you not?"

"I do…" she said, growing uneasy. The Staff of Magius remained still when he released it. His hands, impossibly warm, closed around the bloody wounds. She winced from the sting and was about to jerk her ankles away when some incomprehensible words escaped the mage's lips. Instantly, with a slight tingle, the pale skin stitched itself back together. With that, Raistlin stood again.

"Now you may stand," he said evenly. For someone rumored to be so sick, he moved with surprising grace. As she pulled herself to her feet, he pushed the hood off his head, letting her see his face.

She blinked, the blue light from her eyes winking in the darkness. All previous notions she'd had that Raistlin perhaps appeared more normal than she'd been told were obliterated. He was not horrific, nor did he appear overly alien-like, and he was not how she'd imagined. But despite this, he certainly was nothing like anyone else she'd seen. His eyes, truly adorned with the hourglass figures of rumors, regarded her coldly. Though his cheeks were only slightly sunken, the skin that covered them had a truly gold sheen to it, and his hair fell against it in stark contrast. White, pale, shimmering white, was the color of his hair – completely distinct from the white hair of her elven elders, white in a way that had nothing to do with age. In fact, he quite looked his age: barely past thirty.

Curious, still, to get a better look at him, she subconsciously stepped forward, peering. From the shadows, Dalamar winced. She was supposed to be afraid.

"I see my appearance does not frighten you," he said, still icy. Snapping out of her reverie, she stood straight up again.

"I am not easily frightened," she said confidently. Her gaze fell to his shoulders, which she realized were fairly broad. Wasn't he horribly, irreparably ill? He didn't seem so. Ignoring her reply, he continued.

"Tell me of these crimes for which the Conclave has banished you to my home," he said. She noted some disdain for the Conclave in his tone, and silently thanked the Gods. They had one thing in common, then.

"With respect, Shalafi, I do not wish to speak of it." The honorable term in her mother tongue felt alien on her lips. But alas, she would have to learn to respect him if she wanted to escape from here.

"Then you will starve, and die here," he responded, not missing a beat. She drew in a deep breath, but before she could speak he continued. "Are you ashamed for what you've done? Is that why you do not wish to tell me?" Without thinking, she raised a brow at him.

"I simply would rather not frighten you, dear Shalafi," she said sweetly. It was the wrong move. Instantly, she fell onto her back and skidded until she hit the balcony doors, as if pushed by a great wind. In seconds, Raistlin was before her once more. For someone so sick, he moved remarkably fast.

"You're not capable," he said, unknowingly repeating Dalamar's words. Sikeen kicked herself. These were mages. They were full of themselves, and insisted on having what they asked for. "Another misstep and you will find yourself at the bottom of the tower at the mercy of the creatures of the Grove." Well, there was an opportunity. She scrambled to her feet on the slippery marble floor and faced him once more as he lessened the space between them, glaring at her from his height. "Tell me of these crimes." She cleared her throat, knowing she had no choice but to listen.

"I'm a contract killer," she said simply, meeting his glare with an unreadable expression. It didn't matter how she said it, everyone's reaction was more or less the same.

Raistlin, contemplative, nodded.

"Then I suppose I have nothing to fear," he said.

"What if I were here to kill _you_?" she asked. It was yet another mistake, and from what he'd just said, she should now be at the foot of the tower, faced with the Grove. Raistlin, however, understood the intent of her rudeness – she wanted desperately to be banished. He sighed.

"Then I would wish you the best of luck," he said, rolling his eyes. "The Red Mage said you were to be in my service, did she not?" He paused. When no answer came, he continued. "Dalamar will show you the kitchen. You will brew tea six times a day and bring it to me. At dawn, early morning, noon, afternoon, in the evening, and before you retire. Other than that, keep to yourself," he said before turning on his heel. On his way out, he spoke to his apprentice once more. "She will stay in the vacant chambers next to yours, Dalamar."

"Shalafi," murmured the dark elf in acknowledgement. As soon as Raistlin disappeared into the stairwell, he approached Sikeen. "I would advise you not to provoke my Shalafi. He can be rather foul-tempered," he said casually. "Follow me," he said, leading her into the stairwell opposite the one that led to his master's quarters. In silence, she followed, plotting.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: My sincere thanks go out to zgirl16! Thank you so much for your review. I literally almost cried because I was sure no one would be interested in this story. I've had Chapter Two written for a while, but I was waiting for some feedback before I posted it. Don't worry, I have some great plans in store for this story and I'll be seeing it through to the end! Once again, thank you. ^.^

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Though it was one of the more comfortable beds she'd been in, Sikeen slept fitfully. There was no hope in escaping the tower herself, she'd realized. She would need either one of the mage's help to get through the Grove, or something with which to fly over it. At the moment, neither of those seemed within reach. She'd fallen asleep wracking her brain, trying to come up with a new way to attain freedom.

She awoke just before daybreak, with sunlight barely fading in over the horizon. The sky was still deep blue, and it seemed like as good a time as any to begin the day, considering staying asleep in this nightmarish place was a bit of a feat. Slowly, willing her headache to end, she pushed herself to her feet and entered the washroom.

Surprisingly, it was fully stocked, but there was a layer of dust on the surface of the bathtub. After rinsing it out, she took a quick shower and pulled on what she'd been wearing before underneath her cloak – loose black pants and a simple white tunic. The cloak, still bloodstained, she left to soak in the sink for the time being. Hopefully the stain would come out. If not, well… it didn't seem as if she were to be going outside anytime soon, anyway.

Her reflection caught her eye and she instantly froze. Horrified, she leaned in closer to the mirror and regarded the dark half-moons under her eyes, undoubtedly from the stress of no real trial, as well as how horrendously plain she looked without her usual jewelry, which the Conclave had kept, and the slight makeup she always wore. The Conclave had also taken every one of the fifteen knives she generally hid on her person, which left her feeling bare and defenseless. Sighing, she realized there wasn't much she could do about her looks right now.

What was it the mage had said? Tea, at dawn. She looked out the window. Already late. Yawning, she made her way into the hallway and wondered which way the kitchen might be. Down, probably, since from what sense she could make of the twin stairwells last night there was only one room above hers – Raistlin's.

After several wrong turns, she found herself in the kitchen, and after nearly ten minutes of hunting, she found a massive reserve of the foul-smelling tea leaves in a large paper bag in one of the cabinets. After locating a teapot as well, she heated up the water and waited as it brewed. Nervously, she sat at the thick wooden table. She was never any good in the kitchen, and getting on her Shalafi's good side was absolutely imperative right now, if she ever wanted out of here.

When the tea was done, she poured it carefully into a mug and prayed he didn't take anything else in it as she made her way up the many flights of stairs. Making _tea_, of all things, felt wrong to her – never before had she been in anyone's service. Until now, she'd had a fairly solid business venture going. Unfortunately, killing a mage had apparently been too much for her, and here she was now after the mercy of the Conclave.

Still, she wondered about the circumstances surrounding her sentence. She knew why they hadn't put her to death, but still it was hard to believe. Paladine himself had stood in her favor. But why? What would the god of all that is lawful and good want with her backwards, crime-ridden life?

Finally faced with the doors to Raistlin's chambers, she pushed the thoughts from her mind. After several knocks, there was no reply. She knocked harder and finally there was a hoarse response from the other side.

"Come in," he said. Not knowing what she might find, she slowly pushed open the door.

There, by the fire, was the Raistlin she had heard of. Covered in a thick velvet cloak of black, he sat huddled by the fire on the floor, staring into the flames as if looking for something or waiting for an answer. As she drew closer, she noticed how sunken his strange eyes were. Maybe she was just now seeing him in the light, but he hadn't seemed so weak the night before. As she approached, he let out a cough so dry it made her own throat ache. He then reached out a bony hand, in which she placed the mug.

She couldn't help but think he wouldn't be such a difficult target right now, if she had to take him out to escape. But who, then, would allow her passage through the Grove?

"You may go," he said after taking a sip. Though the fire made it unbearably warm in the room, she noticed him pull the cloak closer around himself, still not looking up at her.

"That's all?" She asked, raising a brow. He looked like he could use another blanket. Or maybe an ale.

"_You may go,_" he repeated, his voice stronger after several sips. Without another word, she exited and made her way down the stairs with the intention of retreating into her chambers to attempt sleep once more. Unable to see in the darkness, however, she soon found herself colliding with the only other resident of the Tower.

"Late with the tea, Sikeen," said Dalamar tauntingly, watching her through the darkness as she used the railing to pull herself off the ground.

"He'll survive," she said, brushing herself off. She was thankful he couldn't see her haggard appearance. If there was one thing Sikeen cared for, it was her looks. "What're you going up there for?" she asked in a desperate effort to make conversation. It would be best, after all, to have at least one friend around here. Perhaps he would speak to Raistlin on her behalf and convince him to let her leave.

"Checking on the fire. Why?"

"Trust me, the fire's fine," she said sarcastically. "It's an oven in there."

"He's been having fevers in the morning," said Dalamar, maneuvering around her. In seconds, he'd disappeared into the mage's chambers. So making friends with the apprentice wasn't going to be easy, either. Obviously, he either didn't trust her or didn't like her. Or was he just very busy? Sighing miserably, she made her way back to her room and fell asleep almost instantly.

It was barely two hours later when she awoke. Two hours, she noticed, seemed to be the longest she could manage staying asleep in this place. Groggily, she once again made her way into the kitchen to make tea and bring it up stairs. Beginning to feel more and more like a housekeeper, she knocked on the mage's door for the second time.

"He's not in there," said a voice behind her. Dalamar's taunting was becoming familiar, and this time it had come from the stairwell. "Downstairs, in the study." She drew in a frustrated sigh and marched back down the stairs. Too proud to ask for directions, she walked past Dalamar and aimlessly entered some other chamber. It was another fifteen minutes before she found the study, by some stroke of luck. Hoping he would stay here until at least her next tea delivery, she swept across the room and put the tea on his desk, where he was hunched over several books in another language.

He seemed significantly less sick now, just two hours later. This time, he turned to look at her as she approached. As he took a sip, he regarded her thoughtfully.

"I believe you're ill," he said simply. She realized her tired appearance probably affected how "ill" she seemed to him.

"It's a chronic condition," she said casually before turning on her heel.

"I haven't dismissed you yet, Sikeen," said Raistlin, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. She stopped in her tracks, reluctantly turning back around.

"My apologies, Shalafi," she said, forcing a rueful smile.

"What sort of chronic condition?" he demanded.

"The sort that makes me want to kill people for money." Her sarcasm was so dry that if he hadn't known better, Raistlin may have taken her remark seriously. Instead, his lips twisted into a tiny, barely discernable smile.

"You may go," he said, turning back to his books. He could afford to put his curiosity on hold. After all, she was stuck here. He had no intention of sending a known murderer back into the world. Not necessarily for the sake of his conscience, but more so to keep the Conclave from harassing him further.

Back in her room, she collapsed once again on her bed. All this work and hunting out Raistlin every time she had to deliver the tea was wearing her out after her night of erratic sleep. Annoyed, she tried desperately to close her eyes once more, but now it was truly daytime, and sleep would not come. But what else was there to do around here for someone who didn't practice magic? Dalamar didn't seem like he wanted her company, and neither did Raistlin. Her only option was finding something else with which to entertain herself.

She'd come across a library downstairs while hunting for her Shalafi just now – maybe that was a good place to start? Retracing her steps, she entered the dark, crypt-like room. Until now, she'd been under the impression that libraries, at least, were a place of light. Apparently, she'd been wrong. Squinting to read the titles, she was dismayed to find that nearly all the books pertained to magic and its methods of practice. Sighing, she picked one at random and curled up under a candelabrum to read. It was dreadfully boring, and she soon found herself reading the same few lines over and over again. Thankfully, Dalamar interrupted her misery.

"Having fun?" he asked, catching her by surprise. She jerked up to look at him, frowning.

"Loads," she replied simply, forcing herself to go back to her book. After he'd brushed her off in the stairwell earlier, she wasn't in the mood to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was bored.

"I'm sure." He quickly scanned the shelves before locating the one he needed and then approached her, peering over her shoulder. "Properties of Maggots in Magical Brewery?" he asked, reading the chapter title. "That seems relevant to your life," he teased. She turned around to glare up at him.

"Dalamar, isn't it? You ought to let me know when there's something better to do in this godforsaken tower," she hissed. He paced around her, resisting the urge to say something crude. "What do _you_ do for fun?" He was silent for a moment, assessing her as she glared mercilessly.

"Recently? Taunt the prisoner," he said, snatching the book from her hands. He sat before her on the floor, pulling a deck of cards from his pants pocket. "And this." Sikeen was slightly taken aback. He was actually offering to play a game with her? Now? So maybe he hadn't hated her right off the bat.

"You don't have anything else to do right now?" she asked suspiciously.

"Unless Shalafi calls for me this very second, then no," he said, dealing out the cards. Seven for her, seven for him. He explained the rules to the game and they played in silence for several turns. Surprising even herself, Sikeen was winning.

"When was the last time you left the tower?" she asked. Perhaps she could figure out a way out from him.

"Three days ago. The plants in the back were looking dry," he said casually.

"So you never go beyond the Grove," she added.

"Can't, without Shalafi's permission." Her heart sank. So it really was a matter of gaining Raistlin's permission.

"You honestly call him that even when he's not around?" He looked up from his hand, raising a brow at her.

"Unlike you, I actually respect him. I'm an apprentice, not a prisoner."

"He's not very endearing," she said, rolling her eyes.

"He's my teacher," he replied with a shrug.

They continued in silence until it occurred to Sikeen that she probably had to go deliver more tea soon.

"I believe I need to get to my duties," she said, standing. Her legs were stiff from being crossed for so long, and the bony joints cracked loudly as she straightened out. Dalamar gave her another curious look.

"Are you ill?" he asked, echoing his master. She had to resist rolling her eyes at him.

"No," she said curtly before turning to leave. At least with Dalamar, she didn't have to worry about being dismissed before she was allowed to leave.

"I'll wait," he said as she trotted back into the stairwell. When the tea was brewed, she decided to check the laboratory first for Raistlin. When she walked in, a cold shudder flicked down her spine. There was someone here. But as she paced slowly into the dark room, Raistlin was nowhere to be seen. She'd heard the Tower was haunted, but hadn't given the rumors any merit until now, when she turned quickly to escape the laboratory. Outside, she leaned against the wall, annoyed. Was she supposed to wander the whole place until she came across him?

Deciding a reasonable place to check was his bedroom, she began climbing the stairs once again. The knowledge of her servitude damaged her pride with every echoing step. When she reached his quarters, she didn't bother knocking.

"I'm not sure how you expect me to do this if you move around all day," she said, spotting him back at his desk. With as much violence as she could expend without spilling, she slammed the tea on his desk. He didn't look up when he replied.

"Allow yourself some time to hunt for me, then," he mumbled, furiously writing on a piece of parchment. She craned her neck to see what was so important. Unfortunately, it was in a language she didn't recognize. When he was done with the sentence, he leaned back in his chair to look at her. "Have you anything better to do?" he asked, taking a sip. It was all she could do not to make an attempt on his life with the saucer he left on the desk. He and Dalamar had quite a bit in common, she realized. They both seemed to derive satisfaction from taunting her. Had Dalamar learned his derisiveness from his master, or was it just a coincidence?

"Regardless, I'm not interested in spending my entire day searching for you," she said, trying her best to maintain an even, respectful tone. Her contempt, however, leaked into the words anyway.

"Shalafi. You're not interested in spending your entire day searching for me, 'Shalafi,'" said Raistlin. He truly was just as insufferable as the stories dictated, she decided, detecting a slight mocking beneath his otherwise serious tone.

Her blood boiled, lips trembling with the instinct to say something caustic. In an effort to avoid doing so, she made a beeline for the door, only to hear Raistlin's voice once again.

"I haven't dismissed you, Sikeen," he said. It was the same, slightly sardonic tone. Once again, she stopped in her tracks.

"Sorry," she muttered, still not turning around. Her own heartbeat was echoing in her mind in her rage.

"'Shalafi.'" This time, she could hear the taunt in his voice. She whipped around, pacing back toward him.

"You're just as controlling as they say," she said sweetly, her lips twisted into a cold smirk. He didn't react, instead gesturing toward something behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, finding a chair she could have sworn wasn't there before.

"Have a seat," he said, taking another sip from his tea. She noticed how his voice gained some strength whenever he began drinking.

"_With respect, _Shalafi, I'd rather stand," she said, an icy glare fixed on the hourglasses in his eyes. Like the one she'd felt the night before, but smaller, a force pushed her backwards, leaving her without choice in the matter. As soon as she was settled, the chair lurched forward, uncomfortably close to Raistlin's. Instinctively, she crossed her legs and threw her shoulders back, careful not to show any sign of fear.

"You will obey when I ask something of you," he started, leaning back in his own chair. "I don't want you here any more than you want to wish to be here, but the Conclave obviously insists that you remain here until your eventual death." He paused, waiting to see if she would reply. Instead, her glare morphed into an expression he could only describe as "bored". He raised a brow at her. "Your insolence will not win you freedom, nor will your servitude. You'll find that I can be very patient."

She cocked her head, slowly uncrossing her legs and leaning on one armrest to draw closer to him. In the candlelight, the hourglasses glinted gold.

"So I am to obey your every command?" she asked, suggestion creeping into her voice. Even if this didn't work, it was the closest thing to entertainment she'd have all day. "Never to leave, locked away in this tower with you for the rest of my long life?" Raistlin nearly rolled his eyes before responding.

"If you grow lonely, I trust Dalamar is more than capable of providing companionship." Sikeen was surprised – despite being bound to the Tower, Raistlin didn't react at all to her advances.

"Dalamar doesn't interest me," she sighed, twirling a long tendril of black hair. "We spent all day playing cards and he's just not intriguing." She did her best to look into his eyes, beyond the bizarre pupils, but they demanded too much attention. She hoped he'd mistake the curiosity in her look for something more.

"If Dalamar does not yet intrigue you, then perhaps you don't intrigue Dalamar, which is unfortunate." He turned back to his parchment, leaving Sikeen disappointed. "You may go." She blinked, surprised. The mage probably hadn't even seen a woman in years, yet she couldn't seduce him? She knew her looks were unconventional, but she'd never had trouble with men before. Without another word, she stood up, sighing.

"I'll be here for the rest of the day," he added just as she was about to leave. Ignoring him, she trotted back down the stairs to continue her card game. Escape would take more planning than she thought.


	3. Chapter 3

b - l - a - d - e' - s - - e - d - g - e

- - : - - 3 - - : - -

As soon as she left, Raistlin placed his quill back in its pot of ink to chuckle quietly to himself. He'd known she was desperate to escape, but she'd actually attempted coming onto him, the most powerful mortal being, Master of Past and Present, and over a decade her senior, at that. Her interest was too much of a coincidence to be anything more than an attempt to be allowed her freedom. Besides, he wasn't thick enough to be drawn to the Conclave's convict. She was truly dangerous – if not to him, than to someone else.

When Sikeen returned to the library, Dalamar was still there, reading the book he'd retrieved earlier. He looked up as she walked in, noticing the stiffness in her expression.

"Something happen?" he asked, moving back toward their game. She took a seat and smoothed her hair over her shoulders, wondering if she might have had more success with a bit of makeup or perfume.

"Nothing," she answered, picking up her cards again. "Has he got a dead wife?" she asked casually. Dalamar shot her another questioning look.

"No. He's just generally ill-tempered. Why do you ask?"

"What about a dead almost-wife?"

"I don't believe so. Why?" Sikeen made a move, gathering up another pair of cards from the board. She was absolutely going to win this round.

"Is he interested in women at all, then?" This time, Dalamar stared at her in something akin to silent disbelief.

"You tried to seduce him to win your freedom," he said, confident. She smiled at him coldly from behind her cards, refusing him any real reaction.

"It's your move."

"I mean between the two of us, you wouldn't try me first?" he asked incredulously. Despite his sarcasm, this earned a glare from Sikeen.

"_You_ can't get me through the Grove," she hissed.

"Right, but I could try," he added, still laughing to himself as he picked up a pair from the board.

"_You're not capable_," she said, mockingly repeating his words from the night before.

"Sikeen, I'm sure you're a talented, cold-blooded murderer outside the Tower, but here you have no clout. I highly doubt you'll be leaving," he said matter-of-factly. She made her move in silence, fixing him with her familiar cold stare. "Besides, it's quite obvious you're ill. You should at least regain your health before attempting to escape through the Grove." She slammed her cards on the floor.

"I'm not ill! This is just what I look like, alright?" He blinked at her, surprised.

"You're an elf," he said, as if that should explain everything.

"Not all elves look like you," she said, her glare growing increasingly ruthless. It wasn't until then that Dalamar realized he'd insulted her.

"It's not that you're… I mean, you just look tired, is all. You're not unattractive," he said, attempting to salvage the situation with as much dignity as possible. "I assumed you were ill and being brave. My apologies."

"I consider myself rather attractive, actually, regardless. I didn't see much sun as a child," she said dismissively, hoping that was explanation enough. She knew she was odd-looking, but it had never bothered her. If anything, it had helped to further her career.

Dalamar let the topic drop, not wanting to insult her further. She obviously didn't want to go into much detail for now.

When their game was done, Dalamar excused himself for some obligation or other, leaving Sikeen, the victor, to go back to her dull reading.

When the time came, she delivered Raistlin's tea without incident. She repeated this process in the evening, as the sun set. However, during her nighttime delivery, he didn't respond to her knocks. Not wanting to waste the tea, she let herself in.

He was by the fire, in the sitting room attached to the bedroom. As usual, it was blazing hot, but he wore his robes anyway, looking small in a particularly large, velvet armchair.

"Raistlin?" she kicked herself, praying he didn't hear. "Shalafi?" As she approached, she realized his head was leaning gently against the side of the armchair and he was asleep, his hand spread over an open book in his lap. With his usual critical gaze nowhere in sight, she realized his slight frame and delicate features made him look even younger than his age.

In fact, while sleeping, he nearly looked like any regular human. Suddenly, his eyes began moving underneath their lids. He was dreaming.

She stood there for a while, not sure what to do. Should she leave the tea? He would find it when he woke up. But then, he might also not wake up, and he'd be even sicker in the morning after skipping a cup. Or was that not how it worked? She didn't know. But he looked defenseless, suddenly, drowning in his velvet robes and sleeping in a chair. Gingerly, she tapped his shoulder. He didn't stir. "Shalafi?"

Still, he didn't stir. She shook him a bit more until he finally groaned in protest before letting out a short cough. As his eyes fluttered open, his usual scowl reappeared. "Your tea," she said, staring down at him evenly. Something reminiscent of embarrassment crossed his face before he took the cup from her, taking a long sip. A moment went by and she wondered if he even planned on saying anything to her. Or was he just going to make her stand here and watch him drink? "May I go?" she ventured. Still, he didn't reply, he only stared into the fire, perhaps lost in thought. She put her hands on the chair's armrests and leaned in toward him to be sure he couldn't ignore her. "Shalafi!"

Finally, he looked up, as if just now noticing she was there. He absently placed a hand on the armrest, letting his fingers brush against hers. In a disjointed, jerky motion, she drew her hands back, caught off-guard. Simultaneously, he did the same thing.

"You are dismissed," he said coldly, glaring up at her before averting his gaze back to the fire. She crossed her arms.

"_Thank_ you, Shalafi," she said, exasperated.

Back in her room, she sat on her bed, horrified. There was no way she could convince Raistlin to let her leave. He was truly made of steel, and she couldn't resort to physical violence, which was generally her answer to these types of situations.

That night, she found herself unable to even come close to sleep. For hours, she thought in circles, coming to the same conclusion again and again: she was stuck here. When the light of day began peeking in through the curtain, she sat up hollowly, like a corpse rising from the dead. Still running on no rest at all, she trudged into the kitchen in the same clothes she wore the day before and began brewing tea. _This is my life now_, she thought, glum. She stood by the stove, watching the water boil. It wasn't until she heard a voice behind her that she realized she was awake, and not lost in some repetitive nightmare.

"Sleep well?" asked Dalamar, who had somehow silently began his own breakfast at the table.

"No," she said, refusing to turn around. She probably looked horrendous, and she didn't need that cocky, one-brow-raised expression from the apprentice right now.

"Neither did I, actually," he said, ignoring how deadbeat and weak she sounded. "Wind was making too much noise, I think."

"Hm." She began pouring the water into a mug but her hand shook from exhaustion. Though just a little bit spilled into the flame, it was enough to cause it to flare out and catch her tunic. Immediately, she shrieked, but it seemed the flame was out moments after it reached the cloth. Underneath remained a gaping hole, exposing the pale skin of her midriff. She stared at the fabric, horrified. This was not how she wanted to begin her day.

"You're welcome," said Dalamar pointedly. She frowned, realizing it was he who had put the flame out so fast.

"Sorry, didn't realize that was you," she said, sighing. "…Thanks." She flicked the flame off and continued pouring, more carefully this time. Finally, she couldn't avoid keeping her back to Dalamar any more. Trying to abandon her insecurities, she took a seat opposite him at the table as the tea brewed. He'd been reading the same book from the night before, which he put down now to converse with her.

"Your shirt's ruined," he said, his gaze falling to the scorched hole. She ran a hand through her hair, trying to smooth it down slightly.

"I suppose," she said, re-assessing the damage. She didn't have anything else to wear, and all this physical damage was really not doing anything for her self-esteem. Sighing, she put her arms on the table and dropped her head on top of them, as if she just couldn't hold herself up any longer. To Dalamar, she looked utterly defeated, which struck a chord with him. She looked _pitiful_.

"You haven't eaten anything since you arrived," he said, spooning more oatmeal into his mouth.

"Not hungry."

"Are you attempting suicide?" This demanded a dry laugh on her part.

"No, but there's an idea." Dalamar ignored her morbidity.

"There's plenty of breakfast, you know. I've insisted that Shalafi at least keep basic things around here."

"Does he eat?"

"Do you?" She sat up, staring at him. Maybe it was just the dark circles under her eyes, but she suddenly looked even more exhausted than when he'd first seen her.

"I only eat the flesh of my victims," she said evenly, standing up to retrieve the tea. Dalamar, not quite as intuitive as his master, wasn't sure how to take this.

"Is that why you look like a creature from the crypt?"

"Excuse me?!" she whipped around, glaring ruthlessly. "It was a joke, you dimwit." She abandoned the tea and sighed, opening up cabinets at random. "Is ale considered a basic thing? Because I could use a drink if I'm going to deal with you _and_ Raistlin for the rest of my life."

"I have some," he said, laughing as he stood. "Here: a peace offering," he said, demanding her attention. She turned around, crossing her arms over her chest, and watched silently as he pulled his tunic over his head. Blinking, she backed instinctively into the counter behind her and shot him a suspicious look. "Because yours is ruined," he said, handing it to her. As she gingerly reached out and took it, his chest caught her eye. Specifically, five marks that looked fresh. Immediately, she placed the tunic on the counter behind her and took a step toward him, trying to get a better look.

"How long have you been bleeding?!" she asked, sure he was going to bleed out if he didn't get a bandage on the marks. He laughed dryly, taking a seat at the table again to continue his breakfast.

"A while now. They don't go away," he said, opening up his book again.

"What do you mean, 'they don't go away'?"

"Shalafi," he answered simply, as if that should explain it all. Somehow, it did.

"Ah." She turned her back to him, slipping her burned shirt off and quickly pulling Dalamar's on. In between the switch, he couldn't help but glance at her back, which was just as pale and fragile-looking as the rest of her. He could see nearly every knob of her spine, as well as her hip bones pushing against the skin. She turned around almost immediately, catching him looking at her. "Thank you," she said, with a pointed look.

"I imagine you haven't brought much, but there should be some of my old things in your room," he said, turning back to his book. She frowned at him, suspicious once again.

"Why are you being so kind all of a sudden?"

"You're really in no position to question kindness," he said, eyes scanning his book still. Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the tea and finished sifting out the leaves. On her way out the door, she grabbed a slice of bread from the bread basket to munch on her way up the stairs. As she left, she heard Dalamar over her shoulder. "Ale's in my quarters if you want it." She decided to make a mental note of that and began the long march up the stairs to her Shalafi's room.

He shut his book, internally shaking his head. Did she expect him to watch as she caught fire and burned to a crisp? Or, for that matter, to treat her like a prisoner for the rest of her life? He'd be gone long before her, probably, and for the time being he might as well make a friend. Life with Shalafi was often dull at best, anyway.

But above all that, this morning she'd successfully won his pity. She obviously hadn't slept at all the night before, and was obviously bored, frustrated, and lacking in the most basic of necessities. And even if she wasn't the most beautiful elf in the world, she was intelligent, and she certainly met his derisiveness well. And that was more than he could say for a lot of girls.


	4. Chapter 4

b - l - a - d - e' - s - - e - d - g - e

**- - : - - 4 - - : - -**

Sikeen rapped on the door furiously, annoyed that she'd received no response yet. After several long, huffy sighs and more impatient knocks, she let herself in. But Raistlin was nowhere in sight. In fact, several things seemed amiss. Where was the fire? The curtains were even cracked, letting a patch of light onto the floor.

"Raistlin?" _Damn._ She'd done it again.

"Shalafi," he corrected, emerging from the bathroom. Her heart skipped a beat. There was Raistlin, in a simple, black, short-sleeved tunic and matching pants, wiping water from his face. Where were the robes? He swept past her, grabbing the tea in one quick motion before sinking into his desk chair. After taking a sip, he stopped for a moment and placed it delicately onto the desk, turning to look at her. "That's Dalamar's," he said, eyeing her shirt. She smirked, knowing exactly the conclusion he'd reached.

"You're looking less ill today," she said, deliberately ignoring what he'd said. By Gods, with the robes gone he actually looked… good. Approachable, in a way. And now, she noticed her attire had struck a bit of a nerve with him. He stared at her suspiciously, as if trying to figure something out.

"I suppose he did intrigue you, then," he said coldly, returning a more vicious version of her own sneer.

"Is that a problem?" she asked, shifting her weight to one side.

"I'm assuming he fell victim to your advances. You ought to know he can't get you through the Grove." Internally, she laughed. Master of Past and Present or not, he was a lot like other men she'd known.

"But he can try," she said in a sing-song voice, echoing Dalamar himself. She turned on her heel and was about to leave when Raistlin spoke again.

"I haven't dismissed you." She froze, sighing again as she turned around. These rules were all so ridiculous.

"Can you, please? Because I've delivered the tea and my beloved is waiting for me in the kitchen."

"I'll dismiss you whenever I please," he said simply, flipping open a leather-bound journal.

"Good health really does not suit you, Shalafi," she said, crossing her arms again.

"Yes, there's a reason why I was forced into perpetual illness," he mumbled, quickly scanning some writing. She glared at his back.

"I'm going to go now," she said, turning back toward the door. But when she tried to turn the knob, it was stuck. Flummoxed, she sighed again. "I don't understand; do you lock yourself in here every day? Afraid you might venture into the world?"

It was barely a moment before she crashed into the door, the wood thumping painfully against her skull. A searing pain wrapped around her ankles like rope, reviving the agony from two days ago. When she tried to push herself away from the door, her ankles instantly weakened and gave out from beneath her. But before she could hit the floor, another invisible force pushed her into the door again. She could barely turn her head to the side to prevent a broken nose. Over her shoulder, she could see that Raistlin had silently approached her, simple graphite pencil still in hand.

"You will _respect_ me. And if you do not, you will _pretend_," he hissed, his face an inch from her own. His snow-white hair brushed against her shoulder. A deeply-rooted instinct instantly rose within Sikeen, and in another flash she all but ignored the blazing pain in her ankles, whipping the mage around and twisting his arm. With the graphite pencil now securely in her own fingers, she pressed it threateningly against his throat, using her other hand to push his forehead back against the door.

"Respect is earned," she said. Raistlin didn't miss the glaze over her eyes. The usually lively blue was now ice-cold, regarding him with the calculated stare of a killer.

"Indeed it is."

Suddenly beyond ignoring, the pain in her ankles intensified. Crippled, she winced, a flash of fear crossing her face before she dropped the pencil and grabbed the collar of his shirt. When she fell, she dragged him down with her, a startled grunt escaping his throat. It was then that a brief knock came at the door. Without another sound, the door swung open and Dalamar stood in the doorway, a tray in hand. What he saw was nothing short of… unexpected.

His Shalafi was sprawled on top of a stunned-looking Sikeen. The usually collected elf looked like she might sob. Not sure how to react, he cleared his throat.

"Er, breakfast, Shalafi," he said, walking in to put the tray on his desk. Raistlin rose to his feet and shot a blithe glare at Sikeen, pacing back to his desk.

"You're both dismissed," he said, taking another sip of the tea. He turned around and leaned against the desk, eyeing her as he drank. Dalamar was halfway out the door as Sikeen struggled to pull herself to her feet – the pain was worse than before. It felt like it was burning down to the bone. She winced as she tried to put a bit of weight on one foot. It simply wasn't possible. "Sikeen, you may go," said Raistlin evenly, watching her. From the floor, she tried to glare at him, but it came out looking more desperate than anything. The exhaustion combined with the burn in her ankles, along with the quickly dawning realization that she was truly stuck here as long as Raistlin demanded it were all driving her to her limit. Though she hated herself for it, a single tear rolled down her pale face.

"_I can't," _she said, choking up a bit.

"No. You can't. So you may as well stop testing my patience in an attempt to escape." Without looking away from her, he addressed his apprentice. "Dalamar. Why don't you help Sikeen back downstairs? She looks like she could use your company." Dalamar could see that Sikeen had pushed his Shalafi too far. He didn't get violent unless provoked multiple times, and there was something odd about the way he'd asked him to help her. Silently, he approached the girl and offered her his arm.

"I don't need your help," she mumbled. Dalamar would have rolled his eyes if he hadn't caught a glimpse of one ankle beneath the hem of her canvas pants. It was a gory mess. Slowly, she tried once again to put weight on it. Raistlin contemplated hitting her with another spell, but decided he'd damaged her pride enough. Her arrogance gave her a certain charm – she was obviously used to having some degree of control over people. Besides – pride, he knew, would never disappear, no matter how much he hurt her. It was just a matter of her realizing she had no power here, and accepting that with dignity. Until then, he could afford to restrain himself.

"I think you might," said Dalamar under his breath. What happened after that surprised Raistlin – she seemed to develop a new level of pain tolerance, forcing her ankles to bear her weight. She stood up, taking slow, deliberate steps toward the door, leaving Dalamar and his Shalafi staring after her. When she got past the door, Dalamar walked out after her and shut it behind him. Raistlin, frowning, wondered if he'd perhaps done the spell wrong.

Or, perhaps, that was just her nature.

As soon as the door was shut, she collapsed.

"You're not proving anything to him," he said quietly, offering her his arm again. This time, she grabbed it, wincing again as another tear rolled down her face. Upon hearing Dalamar speak, Raistlin crept toward the door, listening. His curiosity was truly a vice. She wiped at her face furiously, whispering back to him.

"I don't care."

"About what? Your ankles? Because he's not going to lift that spell now. It's just going to get worse, and you still have to bring him tea."

"Just shut up," she hissed, hating herself more every second. He scoffed, leading her toward the stairs.

"And how _is_ the seduce-Shalafi-to-escape plan going?" Raistlin choked back a cough and smirked dryly. So he'd been right – her interest in him was a tactic. Slowly, he began lifting the spell. At this rate, she'd never get down the stairs. They were still on the landing.

"Considering he thinks I'm sleeping with you, not well," she said, regaining her dignity a little as the pain subsided slightly. Raistlin raised a brow. So he'd been wrong about that. Dalamar shot her a quizzical look.

"Because of the shirt?" he asked, resisting a laugh. "I mean, now that he thinks so, you might as well, right?"

"Or maybe you ought to start figuring out a way to get me out of here, since I implied you would," she countered. Behind the door, Raistlin wasn't sure how to react. So that had been all talk, on Sikeen's part. Satisfied, he paced back to the desk and coughed, taking another sip of the now-cold tea. A drop of blood from his lip appeared on the rim of the mug. He stared at it, once again reminded of the sacrifices he'd made.

As Dalamar and Sikeen slowly made their way down the stairs, he decided he would get the truth out of her. If she was going to be here indefinitely, he needed to know who, exactly, she was.

| - - : - - x - - : - - |

Two hours later, Sikeen's hands were stained with her own blood. After a great deal of compression and cold water from the sink, the bleeding seemed to have miraculously stopped. Dalamar had since dismissed himself for some obligation or other, leaving Sikeen to test the waters and figure out if she could walk yet. Surprisingly, when she pushed herself off the bed, her ankles were fine. The cuts were even healing up a little. _He must have lifted the spell_, she thought, with a tinge of gratefulness. It was quite obvious that he had some control over her, at least here in the Tower. Maybe deferring to that control was the best way to convince him to let her leave.

But how likely was it, really? He'd gotten so angry earlier – there was no way he would just forget about her rudeness. She'd already lost his favor for the time being. How long would it take to win it back? And how long would it take for him to even begin considering letting her out? At the moment, it seemed like an eternity.

She wandered toward the dresser, remembering what Dalamar had said earlier. Sure enough, when she opened a drawer, it was stocked full of clothes. _Boys' _clothes, she noted, taking out a long, grey tunic. Sighing, she returned it to the drawer and made her way back to the kitchen to brew more tea. She found Raistlin in the laboratory this time, and when she approached he barely reacted. As soon as the tea was on the table, he mumbled his dismissal and she sulked away, returning to the library to read books about magic by candlelight.

For the next few days, her deliveries went by like this. Raistlin barely acknowledged her existence, and Dalamar was nowhere to be found. She sometimes wondered how three people who lived in the same tower could possibly interact so little, and by day six of her imprisonment she was more or less used to being bored almost all of the time. However, one precious thing still evaded her – sleep.

She'd just delivered her last cup of the day when she curled up in a large, soft shirt she'd found in the dresser, ready to attempt sleep one more time. Outside the door, there was a brief movement, which she ignored. That was, until the door swung open. She sat up straight in bed, completely alert. Through the darkness, she couldn't recognize who it was.

"Dalamar?" she whispered, hoping she wasn't wrong. Raistlin had never come into her room, and if it were anyone else she was certain they'd be some undead being of her Shalafi's ready to suck her soul of her body.

"Shh. Get a light on," he whispered back, creeping into the room. Relieved, she grabbed a match from her bedside table and lit a candle, tugging the shirt lower over her thighs and gathering the blanket around her.

"What're you doing here?!" she demanded, uncomfortable. It was far too late at night for her to be in bed, half clothed, alone with a man. The light settled on Dalamar as he came closer and her question was answered – in his hands were two glass bottles, and on his face was the devious smirk of a toddler. Unable to help herself, she returned the grin.

"Thought you might be bored," he said, pulling the desk chair closer to the nightstand. He cleared away the things on it and pulled two glasses from the cabinet, pouring drinks. "This used to be my room," he said, giving a reason why he knew what was in the cabinet. Perhaps she could afford some indecency, for now.

"I assumed so. Where have you been?" asked Sikeen, grabbing her glass. Dalamar scoffed a bit.

"Here. Where else?"

"I mean, I haven't seen you." He blinked at her.

"I'd assumed you were avoiding me." She took a slow sip, eyeing him from beyond the rim of her glass.

"Avoiding the only person in this place who will have a conversation with me?" She paused. "Is this Silvanesti?" He raised a brow at her.

"You know your ale."

"Gets my mind off my job," she said with a saccharine smile. A look of distaste crossed Dalamar's features.

"I'd nearly forgotten you slaughter people for a living." Sikeen quickly downed the rest of her drink and poured herself another glass.

"Wouldn't be here otherwise," she said, feeling a slight buzz already. Dalamar nodded solemnly. "Let's play a game." He raised a brow at her.

"What sort of game?" he thought, unable to control his mind's wandering. She drank nearly to the bottom of her glass and placed it delicately on the table, wiping at her lips. Tonight should hopefully make up for the last few days of boredom.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Phew! This chapter has been, by far, the most fun to write. Enjoy! ^.^

b - l - a - d - e' - s - - e - d - g - e

**- - : - - 5 - - : - -**

"Got a coin?"

"No, but you do." He pulled open the nightstand drawer, revealing the glinting gold at the bottom. Sikeen snatched it up and arranged the glasses on the opposite end of the table.

"There. Now, you bounce the coin against the nightstand and try to get it to land in a glass. Every time I get it in my glass, you drink. Every time you get it in your glass, I drink. If you miss, you drink. Understand?" Dalamar narrowed his eyes at her.

"You practice sleight of hand for a living!" She shot him a smirk before expertly bouncing the coin into her glass.

"Drink." Dalamar opened his mouth as if to say something, but instead shook his head at her and downed the ale. She handed him the coin and scooted over slightly, allowing him room to join her on the bed. After a great deal of hesitation, he tossed the coin. To her surprise, it barely made it into his glass.

"Beginner's luck," she said blithely before finishing off her own glass.

"I'm not so sure, actually," he said, handing her the coin. Once again, she tossed it easily into her glass and Dalamar helped himself to another drink. During his turn, the coin bounced into her glass.

"Ha! Drink again – that was my glass."

"You didn't mention that in the rules."

"It's part of the game."

"Really? Who invented this game?" Dalamar poured a drink and handed it to her, smirking. The alcohol was getting to them both. After a playful glare, she took the glass and drank it anyway, letting him win the round. With the familiar buzz now intensifying, she missed the next shot. Horrified, she fell backward onto the bed as Dalamar poured her yet another drink. "Bit of a lightweight, aren't you?" he asked, placing the glass on her stomach. She snatched it up before sitting up.

"Have you _seen_ me?" she asked, glaring mercilessly. He tossed the coin and missed. "Retribution!" she exclaimed. Dalamar noticed she became uncharacteristically giddy when drunk, but she seemed happy. He definitely preferred that over the crying drunks he'd seen in pubs, or the type who became overly rude.

The game continued on for a while, winning and losing long forgotten. After several rounds, neither of them were able to make a single shot. Sikeen leaned playfully against Dalamar, about to haphazardly toss the coin, when the sound of the doorknob turning froze them both to the core. With her hand still poised to make her move and her head still resting against Dalamar's shoulder, Raistlin stared at them both for a moment before the apprentice cleared his throat.

"Shalafi," he said, struggling to fight back a grin. There was something oddly comical about this whole situation.

"Dalamar, return to your quarters," said Raistlin. He was obviously not amused. Dalamar couldn't help but laugh, then, but he attempted (pitifully) to cover it up with a coughing fit. Sikeen's lips twisted into a smile, as well, when Dalamar stumbled and nearly crashed into the wall.

"I think I won, then," she blurted out, convinced she had to be more sober than her.

"Absolutely not," he mumbled, still struggling to find his footing. Raistlin glared at them both, not sure what to make of this. Not only were they drunk to the point of no return, but as far as he could tell, they were both fully clothed. He would have thought that Dalamar and Sikeen, heavily under the influence, would only result in one thing. Somehow, he'd been wrong.

As Dalamar slowly made his way past his master, he spoke over his shoulder.

"Goodnight, Sikeen. I want my ale back tomorrow." Sikeen laughed in response. Raistlin stared after him, shocked. He was still _speaking._ Usually, Raistlin's presence was enough to reduce him to speaking only when necessary. Apparently, that didn't apply where alcohol was involved.

Raistlin stepped in, annoyed at how difficult it was to appear foreboding to two heavily intoxicated individuals. It didn't matter how powerful he was if no one feared him. He slammed the door shut and paced over to her, finally satisfied that he'd scared her when she shifted uncomfortably. It finally occurred to Sikeen that Dalamar was gone, and she was alone with Raistlin. She drew the blanket closer to her waist, scooting back toward the wall behind her.

She watched, shocked, as he poured himself a drink and stood there quietly, sipping it.

"Well, now that you've kicked out my one true love, are you going to have your merciless way with me and sacrifice me to your undead minions?" she slurred, barely processing the glare he shot her that bordered on quizzical.

"No, actually, but while I'm here I can punish Dalamar by drinking his ale," he said coldly, having a seat on the simple desk chair Dalamar had moved. Somehow, with his velvet robes flowing over its edges, the chair itself began to look regal. Pondering this, Sikeen almost didn't hear what he said next. "You and I are both aware of your… unusual… appearance," said Raistlin pointedly, as if staring right through her. It was more difficult to maintain her frosty exterior when drunk, and she couldn't help herself as her heart began thumping wildly against her ribcage. A less-than-rational part of her worried he would hear. Her lips longed to conform to instinct – to insist he leave – but her Shalafi would never stoop so low as to fulfil _her _request.

With no response, Raistlin continued.

"Tell me why you look as if you've never seen the sun."

Though he hadn't known her long, Raistlin wouldn't have imagined she was capable of fear. She was a trained contract killer. She'd shown her arrogance to him, the most powerful mortal being, and hadn't even relented when he physically attacked her. But suddenly she looked nothing short of terrified. Perhaps it was the light of the Staff of Magius, which probably cast odd shadows on his face. It was also reflecting off her eyes, creating that same animal-like glow he'd seen the night she'd arrived.

Unable to resist, she spat out what she wanted to.

"Get out." Raistlin didn't react, simply taking another sip.

"Answer me."

"Get out!" she shrieked, growing increasingly fearful. Praying for sobriety, her mind raced as fast as it could through her intoxication to come up with some sort of weapon within arm's reach. Anxiety pushed her fingernails into her palms, creating painful half-moons where they broke the skin. Raistlin, still sober, could see that this was an overly adverse reaction to his question. Frozen in place, Sikeen stared frantically at the hourglasses, waiting for some semblance of calm. But her heart and mind raced on, making the room spin.

"Sikeen," he said, frowning. He wanted to say something more but instead refilled her glass and handed it to her. "Calm down." Instantly, she relaxed, back to her giddy, drunk self, delicately taking the glass from his hand. When she wrapped her fingers around it, blood appeared between her skin and its surface.

"You really shouldn't be giving me more alcohol, Shalafi. I'm drunk enough," she said with a smirk. Raistlin frowned at her, dumbfounded. She put her drink back on the table and when she pulled her hand away, the distinct reddish-brown of her blood still stained the glass. "Well, now that you've kicked out my one true love, are you going to have your merciless way with me and sacrifice me to your undead minions?" Raistlin stared, horrified.

"You've already said that." She cocked her head at him, confused.

"Excuse me?"

"You said that when I walked in." She let out a dry laugh.

"Did you not _just_ walk in?" she asked sarcastically.

It was as if a solid wall had appeared between them. Receiving no response from him, she sipped more from her drink and returned it to the nightstand. Raistlin drank his in silence, pondering as he stared at her. Either she didn't remember him asking the question, or she was pretending to have forgotten. But the blood on the glass said otherwise. She wouldn't deliberately harm herself for an elaborate act, would she?

"Sikeen, your hands are bleeding," he said, testing the waters once more. She lifted her palms to the light and stared at them, a brief look of sadness crossing her face.

"So they are," she said, shooting him a nervous smile. She looked up to meet his eyes and a strange sensation washed over her – almost as if she were letting go. This time, Raistlin's first instinct was to excuse himself. An unspoken confession was passing between them, as she silently admitted to him that there was something horribly, dreadfully wrong. He bit back his reflex to escape from this personal situation and pressed on.

"I asked you a question," he said evenly, hoping she wouldn't crumble again. Her brow furrowed slightly as confirmation of her actions dawned on her. Raistlin, forever a slave to his curiosity and fully aware he was venturing once again into forbidden territory, continued on. "May I ask it again?" Reluctance spread across her features and she grabbed her glass up again, slowly downing the rest of the drink. She was getting to the point of dangerous intoxication. The Conclave expected her to die here anyway, right? She sighed and reached for the bottle again.

A hand wrapped around her wrist, and before she could look up to express her complaint he spoke.

"If you are not ill, why do you look it?" Her head spun as she struggled to train her gaze on his face. Noticing her rolling eyes, he spoke again. "Sikeen?" A hint of concern crept into his voice. Feeling as if she might vomit, she attempted to get to her feet but instead crashed into the wall, as Dalamar had, but with greater force. Leaning precariously against it, she remembered his question and shot him her characteristically wicked grin. In the blue light of the Staff, it nearly gave Raistlin a shiver.

"They locked me up as a child. I never felt the sun," she slurred, grinning wildly. Raistlin's eyes widened slightly.

"_Who?_" he demanded, intrigued through his horror. An eternity seemed to pass before she finally answered.

"Mummy and Daddy," she murmured as she tumbled to the ground. The sickening crack of her arm landing beneath her seemed to echo in the dimly-lit bedroom.

For a moment, Raistlin just sat there, the gravity of what she'd said dawning on him. For her to look like this, she would have had to see absolutely no sunlight from birth until fairly late into her childhood. And from what she'd just revealed, it was allegedly her own _parents_ who had kept her – literally – in the dark. But where? Why? Was she alone? With several questions answered, a thousand more formed in his mind.

Still disturbed, he stared at her crumpled form. She was barely breathing. With her nest of black hair fallen over her face and one arm caught grotesquely underneath her, she hardly looked alive.

She probably wouldn't even remember telling him in the morning. Should he act as if he didn't know? Raistlin realized what he was asking of himself – was he _satisfied_ with what he knew now?

Could one ever be satisfied, learning of something so horrific? Was it human nature to want all the gritty, personal details?

Was this sympathy? For a murderer?

Eventually, he knelt before her on the floor, pushing her over. Her arm was clearly broken. With a quick spell, he set it back to its proper position. Was he to leave her there, on the floor?

_Yes,_ he thought bitterly, irrationally hating her for showing him the horrors of her childhood. But as he turned away, pity drew him back to her side. She still resembled a corpse, lying on the wood and taking shallow, uneven breaths. It was almost as if she wanted to wake up but could not.

Another long moment passed as he watched her sleep fitfully. Even under such heavy intoxication, she couldn't sleep here. He frowned and knelt again, pulling a leaf from his pocket and pressing it against her throat, just as the Red Mage had the night she'd been brought to the Tower. Instantly, her breathing became steady. There, he'd done her a favor.

But his conscience was still chiding him for this – for forcing her to turn over a forbidden stone, for the blood on her hands, and for passing judgment on her nature so quickly. And she hadn't slept with Dalamar at all, which was strangely reassuring. He kicked himself for all the assumptions he'd made. She was really quite broken, beneath the faux arrogance. He eyed the bed, wondering if he should move her. She must weigh nothing at all.

No, that was too much. He sighed, slowly running a hand through his hair. Once again, he contemplated leaving her there. Instead, he rose to his feet and shrugged off his robe. She'd recognize it in the morning and attempt to return it, but he wouldn't tell her what she'd confessed to him unless she asked. That way, she had the option to know, but if she didn't want to, she could leave it be. And on top of that, he wasn't being heartless by leaving her uncovered.

It seemed fair. He tossed the cloth over her, watching as she subconsciously grabbed a handful of it in one hand to pull it closer to her. Wonderful; now it was probably stained with blood. At least it formed an adequate blanket for her tiny frame. He resisted the urge to snatch it back up and paced out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. When he turned to go up the stairs, something caught his eye.

Dalamar stood in his doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.

"Shalafi," he said, nodding at him. There was a hard look in his eyes as he eyed his master's bare tunic. It occurred to Raistlin that although nothing physical had happened between Dalamar and Sikeen, he may very well be pursuing something of that nature. It also occurred to him that there was much more to Sikeen than Dalamar knew, and it would be difficult for anyone to get far beyond her frosty exterior.

"She's passed out from the ale," he said, as if that should explain the absence of his robe. With that, he swept into the stairwell, the Staff of Magius lighting his way.

Dalamar, meanwhile, crept back into his quarters. He'd heard Sikeen cry for Raistlin to leave her, but beyond that it was all mumbling. What had happened? His mind had jumped to the obvious conclusion, but he didn't think his Shalafi was quite so dishonorable. Was he? He wouldn't…

No. He wouldn't have forced himself on her. The thought was too revolting. She was drunk, and helpless.

There was no way to find out now. He would have to ask Sikeen in the morning if something had happened.


	6. Chapter 6

b - l - a - d - e' - s - - e - d - g - e

**- - : - - 6 - - : - -**

For the first time since she'd arrived, Sikeen awoke relatively calmly. It was midday as her eyes fluttered open, and as her vision came into focus she realized she was on the floor. Assuming she must have passed out, she pushed herself into a sitting position to find a velvet robe falling from her shoulders into her lap. _What is this?_ There was a dull pain in her left arm, as well as some stinging in both her palms.

Realization dawned on her. The robe. It was Raistlin's. She froze, staring at the glimmering black fabric. But how? Why? What had happened? The last thing she remembered was playing Coin Toss with Dalamar. She was still clothed… But the robe?

She eyed her palms, closing her hand into a fist. The marks were from her own fingernails. Horrified, she realized she must have become frantic. Something must have happened. Last night left too many questions unanswered, and she had to figure out what happened. She jumped to her feet, hell bent on filling in the blanks. She grabbed the robe off the floor and burst out of her room. On her way up the stairs to Raislin's chambers, she ran into Dalamar again in the dark.

"Sikeen. What happened last night?" he asked, skipping a greeting. She gave him a frantic look and took a deep breath.

"I have no idea."

"I heard you scream for him to get out."

"_What?" _Horrified, she realized what he was implying. "No. That's not…" Her head spun, and she realized she was monumentally hung over. Shoving past him, she ran up the remaining stairs and all but broke the door on her way into Raistlin's chambers. Raistlin jumped to his feet as the door opened, but she didn't have time to acknowledge him. Flinging the robe onto the carpet, she barely made it to the bathroom before vomiting profusely into the toilet.

"Good morning?" Raistlin's greeting came out sounding like a question. Sikeen heaved several more times, barely registering his presence. When she was done, she forced herself to stand up and somehow found herself in the bedroom, using the wall as support. Somehow, after learning about her childhood, Sikeen looked different to him now. It was impossible to take her at face-value: she was more than a criminal. Beneath it, she was a victim. Something told him it was more than the frizzy black hair and thin limbs that made her seem so broken. Trying to eliminate the sudden sympathy he was feeling, he turned to his desk to shuffle around some papers and inadvertently let out a series of dry coughs.

"Care to explain why Dalamar heard me screaming for you to get out of my room last night?" she demanded, looking a bit green. Raistlin blinked at her, his eyes falling momentarily to where Dalamar's shirt ended and her legs began. She glared, wishing she'd taken the time to change.

He hesitated. This was unexpected. She obviously thought he'd done something much worse than what he'd actually done.

"Do you really want to know?" he asked casually, retrieving his robe from the floor and pulling it on. It smelled like alcohol and remnants of something sweet.

"Why did I wake up with that thing on me?!"

"This _thing_ cost a fortune to be tailored to my exact measurements with the finest fabric available. Consider yourself lucky."

"You have several," said Sikeen, growing dizzier by the second.

"I'm a rich man." He paused, resisting a laugh as she squeezed her eyes shut. "You're extremely late with the tea." Sikeen let out a roar of frustration and sunk to the floor, fingers pressed against her temples. He could have told her he was just taunting her, and that Dalamar had picked up her responsibilities while she'd been asleep, but surely he was still allowed to tease her just a bit? Especially after she'd burst into his room and vomited in his bathroom.

"What happened last night?" she asked again, unable to open her eyes. Raistlin sighed, figuring he might as well tell her if she was insisting. That was what he'd decided, wasn't it? He'd tell her if she insisted. He took a deep breath, knowing it was the right thing to do.

"You told me about your… unfortunate… childhood. Then you passed out from the ale."

Without a word, Sikeen shoved herself to her feet again and ran back to the bathroom, vomiting once more. Raistlin winced, hating the awkwardness of the situation. He'd been counting on her not wanting to know.

Prideful as ever, when she was finished, she marched straight past him toward the door, wiping at her lips.

"Don't pity me." Raistlin nearly told her he hadn't dismissed her yet, but thought better of it.

With that, she slammed the door behind her and retreated to her room, where she sat on the bed for a long while, horrified. She was stuck here for the _rest of her life._ And now the person she was stuck with knew her secret. How could she be so stupid? He would never see her as an equal now. She was damaged, pitiable, and not to be taken seriously. He would never care for her wishes to escape, no matter how much she pled. If it wasn't hopeless before, it certainly was now.

Feeling violated and miserable, she took a long shower, deducing that she'd missed between two and three tea deliveries. What did it matter? There was no point in trying to appease him now. She put her hair in a braid and pulled on more of Dalamar's old clothes, and made her way to the kitchen, halfheartedly brewing tea as she munched on another slice of bread in an attempt to quell her raging hangover. Slowly, it began to improve. As she sat on the table with her head resting on its cool surface, Dalamar walked in to retrieve his lunch.

"Remember anything yet?"

"He didn't rape me," she mumbled glumly, not caring how crude she sounded.

"Why do you sound _disappointed_?" asked Dalamar suspiciously, noticing how upset she seemed.

"Leave me alone." He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"You're never getting out of here." She let out a sound that seemed like something between crying and choking. "Here," said Dalamar, slamming a glass of water on the table in front of her. "And you don't need to bring him tea. I took care of it." She sighed, ignoring the water. The sound of something being fried filled the kitchen.

"Thank you," she said into the table.

"I think it's safe to say I won last night. Water, Sikeen." She wrapped her hand around the glass but didn't lift her head up. "For Gods' sake. _Water_." Slowly, she forced her head up and brought the glass to her lips. The coolness felt divine, and she drank almost all of it in several large gulps. In seconds, there was a plate with an omelet on it in front of her. She stared at it, not sure how to react.

"Is this for me?"

"No. I've put it in front of you to taunt you with all that you will never have," said Dalamar casually, pouring himself a glass of something suspicious. She pulled the plate toward her and was about to dig in when she noticed what he was doing.

"Is that _more_ ale?" she asked incredulously, disgusted. He raised his glass toward her before taking a sip. She realized then that he was actually drunk.

"You're not the only one with a headache."

"It's morning!"

"It's really afternoon," he said, finishing off his drink and grabbing the tea she'd made from the counter. "Off to Shalafi!" he declared. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he was intoxicated. But just as he was about to leave, a figure appeared in the doorway. Hourglass eyes stared at Dalamar, judging him. Sikeen stiffened, taking a delicate sip of her water. She hadn't wanted to see him again so soon.

"You are truly the _worst_ apprentice I could have asked for," he said, snatching the tea from his hands. Since Sikeen had arrived, Raistlin's life had turned into a series of unpleasant surprises. His apprentice's day-drinking was no exception.

"Shalafi, what're you doing in the kitchen?" asked Dalamar, completely ignoring his master's jibe. Obviously, he was used to the abuse.

"Fetching the prisoner." She wished she could have melted into the floor. The last thing she wanted to do right now was have a conversation with him.

"I don't want to speak with you," she said evenly, staring at her omelet as she poked it with the fork.

"You're a prisoner," he reminded her. Dalamar wished he could have told his master to at least let her finish eating, but it was not his place.

"But _you_ are not my warden," she hissed, glaring up at him. Raistlin rolled his eyes, leaning on the Staff of Magius.

"The Conclave insists otherwise. Upstairs. Now." She didn't respond, glaring down at her omelet, and Raistlin sighed, growing weary.

Relenting, Sikeen angrily shoved her plate away and stormed past them both, marching up the stairs before Raistlin. She was about to push the door open to Raistlin's quarters when the velvet of his cloak brushed against her bare arm. Obviously, it was locked. He pulled the key from a hidden pocket and swept in, silent. She crept in after him with her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

"What is it?" she asked, leaning against the closed door. "Am I about to receive a lecture on how I need to be more obedient or stay out of your way?" Raistlin sighed, leaving the Staff hovering in the middle of the room to take a sip from his tea. He was feeling significantly sicker today.

"On the contrary. I'd like to apologize for forcing you to discuss something you clearly planned to conceal." Sikeen couldn't believe what she was hearing. He watched her over the edge of his teacup as his words sunk in, sipping slowly.

"That's… Alright." The words didn't go together. He could hear that she wasn't saying it was alright, she was merely acknowledging his apology. "Alright," she repeated, unsure of how, exactly, he expected her to respond.

"But someone knows your secret now. Someone knows you were wronged. Perhaps that is some solace to you, if you were to think of it that way." Again, she gaped at him. Receiving no answer, he sighed again and continued. "And I suspect your… unconventional… career choice had something to do with your childhood." There. He'd said it. And he hadn't asked a single question – no prying whatsoever. Satisfied, he sunk into his desk chair and spun it around to face her. It was getting cold and his chest was beginning to ache again. Sikeen, meanwhile, remained still on the other side of the room, shifting uncomfortably on her feet.

How was she supposed to admit to him that he was right? That her life as a contract killer wasn't even because of some deep-seated psychological imbalance, but a direct result of her parents' negligence? How could she admit to him that it had affected her, after years of refusing to admit it to herself?

An unfamiliar swell was growing in her chest as she realized that never before had someone not only discovered her secret, but expressed sympathy for her. All these years, she'd received nothing but harsh scrutiny for her bizarre appearance. And she'd strived to own it, and to turn into a person who was truly deserving of the criticism she was so used to.

Gods, where were the _words_ she was supposed to say to him now?

"Sikeen?" asked Raistlin, his voice notably more hoarse than it had been a moment ago. Heavy silence hovered between them before she replied.

"Thank you," she said quietly. The words barely came out on a whisper. Had he successfully comforted her? Had he revived her pride? He bit back the urge to ask if he'd been right, if he'd pieced together her broken tale of woe correctly. But asking might trigger her again, and he had a feeling having two of her… episodes… within twenty-four hours could not possibly be good for her psyche. She glanced at the wall and then back at him. He didn't miss the look on her face – just as he'd seen her differently in the morning, she was looking at him differently now. Almost with the confidence of a friend, or someone who at least respected him. Gone was the guarded, stony look he'd grown familiar with. "Shall I… ask Dalamar to light a fire?" she asked, itching to change the subject. As if on cue, he let out a series of dry coughs.

"Yes. You may go," he said. They were right back to speaking as they had been the past few days, but something felt different. She shut the door behind her and stopped in the stairwell, taking a moment to process what had happened.

He'd been kind to her. The Master of Past and Present had shown her kindness. Yet somehow, she didn't feel pitied. She felt validated, as if the wounds she'd tried so hard to cover were, in fact, a reasonable thing to be upset about. Aside from that, he hadn't blamed her for what had happened. But he hadn't treated her like a basket case, either. She didn't know it was possible.

When was the last time someone had known about what happened to her and still treated her with respect? She couldn't remember if it had ever happened.

It occurred to her then that Raistlin was not so different than her. He'd sacrificed his appearance, and his health, on his own accord, but that didn't change the fact that after he returned from his Test he was treated differently. Maybe he knew what it was like, then, to be discriminated against for looking unusual.

The thought was comforting. There was someone in the world who understood. But he was also her chief adversary in attaining her freedom. Would he sympathize with her enough, perhaps, to release her?

Despite her generally questionable nature, something felt wrong about thinking like that. Raistlin had shown her that there were people in the world who wouldn't mock her for what she had gone through. How could she even contemplate using his sympathy to escape? But then, there was also the fact that she was locked in this tower for the rest of her life. Wasn't that justification enough to use any means necessary? Why should she feel guilty?

Too much time had passed. She jumped to her feet, ignoring the pounding in her head and all the confusing thoughts clouding her mind. Right now she had to tell Dalamar to light a fire. Then, she could retreat to her room and ponder all she wanted.


	7. Chapter 7

b - l - a - d - e' - s - - e - d - g - e

- - : - - 7 - - : - -

It was dark. Limitlessly, deeply, pervasively dark. Sometimes, it felt like she was drowning in it, and other times it felt like a blanket. Like safety. Because that's what she liked to pretend – perhaps they kept her here because it was safer. Maybe she was their little girl, and the outside world was far worse than this.

There was no way to tell how high the ceiling was in this little room she lived in, but lately she could barely brush her fingers against it if she reached as high as she could and stood on her toes. There were blankets and pillows scattered on the floor, which she could sort of see if she peered at the ground long enough, and a tiny hole on the ceiling through which she could sometimes hear the wind. Sometimes, she thought she could see light coming in through it, but it was probably just her imagination. Besides, if it got too bright it made her head hurt.

Twice a day, the hatch on the roof would open, but it was never light outside, either. Someone would come in with food, concealed in the shadows. And he would whisper horrors into her ear, call her nasty things, violate her in ways she tried not to think about after he left…

Sikeen snapped back to reality. Day was breaking on the horizon someplace as the sky began turning a lighter shade of blue. She stared into the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the mattress. She'd woken up to get out of bed, and the next thing she knew she was ten years old again. What was going on? It had been nearly two weeks since Raistlin had discovered her secret, and since then the flashbacks had been occurring more and more frequently. She hadn't even had one for years, so why were they happening now?

As usual, she settled on her tried-and-true method of ignoring her problems and shoved the thoughts out of her head. It was time to make tea. The flashbacks would stop eventually, she figured. Perhaps it was just a side effect of being locked in this tower, which was startlingly reminiscent of being locked in a cell as a child.

Exhausted from yet another night of broken sleep (it never seemed to get better), she trudged up the stairs after the tea was brewed. Raistlin called for her to enter his chambers and she strode in, putting the tea on the desk before awaiting her dismissal. Just as he always did, he dismissed her immediately, hunched over his books. She stared at him. He_ knew_. And despite his kindness from two weeks ago, he really didn't seem to care much. If he did, he'd let her go, wouldn't he?

It occurred to Raistlin that she was still there, gaping at him. But when he turned to glare at her and remind her she could go, he balked, jumping ever so slightly.

"Gods!" he hissed, a little too quickly. She was a disaster. She was generally always a bit funny-looking, drowning in Dalamar's clothes, but that was in an endearing sort of way. Today, she was worse than usual. Her eyes and cheeks were sunken, and her skin had taken on a dull, ashy tone. And there she was, her lifeless gaze boring into him. She looked positively undead. What was wrong with her? Did she even _try_ to sleep or feed herself? Raistlin had a feeling even he looked healthier than she did. "You may go!" he added, quickly concealing his shock.

"Hate me that much, do you?" she said, her voice raspy from disuse. Raistlin frowned. He hadn't done anything _particularly_ nasty today. "You say it every day. 'You may go.' But I can't, can I?" she said casually, feet planted firmly in their places. Raistlin sneered at her.

"You're still holding that against me. Incredible. When will you understand, dear elf, that it's not my decision to make?"

"So you do hate me. You didn't deny it."

"So petty. I can hate you, if you like." She was being ridiculous. When would it finally hit her, he wondered, that he was _not_ about to let her out?

"Perhaps then I can be even more justified in hating you." Still eerily deadpan, she turned on her heel and dragged herself out of the room.

Downstairs, she sat at the kitchen table, feasting on her usual breakfast of a glass of cold water. Food, she'd found, was beginning to make her nauseous, especially in the morning. Dalamar strolled in and immediately froze, horrified. Her hair was sticking out in every direction and that dull stare was something right out of those creepy old tales people told around campfires. Lately, he'd noticed she was getting more and more quiet, but this was new. She'd left all the candles off in the kitchen, too, which only made it all the more terrifying. He scrambled to retrieve the book he'd nearly let drop and cleared his throat.

"Sleep well?" he asked, trying to stay casual as he lit a candle. She didn't answer. "Sikeen?" She groaned. "You've lost half your weight," he said, trying to catch her eye. She stared right through him. "There wasn't much to begin with."

"Hello, Dalamar," she said finally, sighing. There was a hollowness to her voice, which struck a chord with him. Once again, he found himself pitying her. "I know, I look horrid." He gave her a rueful smile, immediately feeling guilty about being so alarmed. Sometimes he forgot his manners.

"Just a little tired. You're still lovely," he said over his shoulder as he rifled through a cabinet for a frying pan. She stared at him, blinking slowly.

"What?" He'd never said _that_ before. He stopped, looking over at her with one arm still in the cabinet.

"You're still lovely. You just need some sleep. I'll see if I can filch something of Shalafi's to knock you out," he said, going back to the pots.

"You're a horrible apprentice, but you're a good friend," she said, taking a sip of her water.

"Well, whenever he kicks me out, I'll drag you along." She couldn't help a small, wry smile. If only he really could take her with.

"Do you really think I'm lovely?" She knew it was desperate, but her self-esteem needed a boost today.

"Of course," he said nonchalantly over his shoulder, frying his usual omelet. "You're the smartest girl I've ever met." She laughed a little to herself. Dalamar, meanwhile, couldn't help but feel proud of himself. There was nothing like cheering up a mopey girl, and he'd grown fond of Sikeen. How fond, he wasn't sure, but she was good company. And for now, that was enough for him.

| - - : - - x - - : - - |

It wasn't until several days later that Sikeen began to really feel the weariness. She hadn't asked Dalamar about his promise to steal her something to put her to sleep, but nights were getting to be downright terrible. Every time she closed her eyes, she was instantly transported back to her childhood prison. And when she saw Raistlin in the morning, it only made her more tired and frustrated. Maybe, she reasoned, this was her mind becoming used to the idea of being locked up for good. By remembering the last time she was locked up "for good."

And then, one morning, it happened. She had just delivered her first cup of the day and had hopped in the shower, exhausted. After several minutes of standing in the steam, her vision began to blur. It felt normal, at first, as if long-awaited rest was finally reaching her. But when she felt herself losing consciousness, she instantly reached for the plush beige towel that hung on the rack. With it securely wrapped around her, she stepped out of the bathroom and was about to tumble into her bed when she heard something from the bureau. When she turned around, everything went dark. But somehow, she was still wide awake. The little hole in the ceiling was back, as well as the constantly vanishing blankets on the floor and the too-low ceiling.

And suddenly, the hatch was opening up. She stumbled backwards and tripped, her head hitting the nightstand. After that, there was no escape.

Though she'd missed deliveries before, this was the first time Dalamar didn't come to her rescue and make up for her responsibilities. When his apprentice delivered his lunch that afternoon, Raistlin decided to tell him to remind the girl to be more steadfast.

"Sikeen hasn't delivered tea since dawn," he said pointedly, taking a small sip of his water. Dalamar, though puzzled, didn't say anything about her whereabouts.

"I'll bring some up, Shalafi," he said.

"What is she so busy with, I wonder?" Dalamar tried to remember when he'd last seen her. He hadn't yet today, but he'd heard the shower running early in the morning. In fact, he'd heard the water running just now, too, when he'd started up the stairs.

Actually, it had been running all day. A grim look crossed his features.

"She's in the shower," he said darkly, suddenly feeling ill. If she'd drowned herself, wouldn't the water start flooding the tower? Or had she just died and left the shower running for some reason? Perhaps she'd slit her wrists. Raistlin gave him a quizzical look.

"She's been in the shower _all _morning?"

"All morning, Shalafi," he said, itching to be dismissed.

"Why would she be in the shower all morning?" demanded Raistlin, eyes narrowed. He had clearly reached a similar conclusion. Dalamar looked him straight in the eye, growing impatient.

"I think she's dead. I'd like to go see," he said bluntly, staring at his Shalafi. Raistlin sighed.

"_What_ are we going to do with a body?" he thought aloud, tapping his fingers against the desk. Dalamar twitched, visibly disturbed. Was it so much to ask to be dismissed, just this once? Raistlin caught his increasingly frantic expression and waved him away. "Go. Find out." Barely a moment passed before Dalamar disappeared into the stairwell, leaving Raistlin to ponder this.

Unfortunately, it made sense. If Sikeen was dead, it would absolutely be on her own accord, and probably completely deliberate. She'd been looking half-dead recently anyway, and she'd obviously been struggling with something mentally which she refused to discuss with him. Granted, he hadn't asked, but if she wanted to talk about it, wouldn't she? And what else would explain the dull, lifeless stares and lack of sleep? Not to mention her excess supply of what he could only describe as tired hostility. She was suffering. But enough to end her own life? It seemed excessive, even for her.

He should have let her leave. Regret hit him like a brick wall – if she was dead, this could easily be his fault. He could have just let her go. He could have been kinder. He could have expressed a smidgen more sympathy than he had.

Another, overruling thought leapt to his mind. The Conclave wanted her to die here. They were probably expecting something like this. _They _knew she was unstable. Immediately, he jumped to his feet, grabbing the Staff of Magius to light his way down the corridor. He was not about to fall victim to another one of the Conclave's plans. Sikeen's door was ajar and inside he heard the telltale mumbling of a spell, but it was wrong, broken up by its speaker's inability to focus.

He hesitated before entering the room, not sure he wanted to know what he'd find. He'd seen bodies – hundreds of bodies – but this was… different. He hadn't wanted her to die. Would she even look different than she had these last few days? Slowly, he rounded the corner into her room and approached Dalamar, who was kneeling on the floor by the nightstand. The air was heavy with steam from the shower. On the floor was Sikeen.

She lay on her back, wrapped in a towel, with one hand folded over her stomach. The other was to her right, and she faced the same direction, her eyes peacefully shut. In fact, she looked quite tranquil, save for the massive head wound on the back of her head. Judging by the bloodstain on the nightstand, she'd fallen backward and hit her head before passing out. Her whole body was slick with the steam settling on her skin, which gave her a sort of feverish sheen. This was the second time Raistlin had seen her passed out like this, but it wasn't the same. Now, he could see her face. And he could see how utterly exhausted and worn she'd been before she'd collapsed.

This was about more than the Conclave. He'd seen her lose herself, slowly, over the last two weeks, but as his eyes trailed over her frail body, he realized he'd been excessively negligent. She was even tinier than he remembered, and the fluffy towel even seemed to be too much weight for her. But underneath it, she was breathing, he noticed, as its surface gently rose and fell.

He waited for Dalamar to give up once again and interrupted him before he could attempt the spell once more.

"Dalamar. Stop." He looked up at his Shalafi, looking more worried and confused than he had in a long while. He was in a daze from attempting the complicated magic over and over again.

"She's alive; I just can't concentrate because—" he stared at her again, unable to find the right words. Raistlin shoved him aside and did a quick incantation to promote healing – the wound had already stopped bleeding. She would wake up when she was ready, and he would have to go upstairs soon to memorize the spell again, now that it was forgotten. "Thank you," said Dalamar, hating that he couldn't take care of it himself. He sighed, disappointed. "She's my best friend," he added, finishing his sentence from earlier.

Raistlin stood, staring down at her. There was nothing more he could do to help her. She was badly injured, and it would take time to heal.

"You need more practice. Go turn the shower off," he said to his apprentice, who immediately did as he was told. Raistlin coughed dryly and looked back at Sikeen. The longer he looked at her, the more he felt like something was wrong. She was stirring a bit, and he was again reminded of the first time he had seen her unconscious. She'd looked as if she was trying to wake, but could not. Had he missed something?

He knelt again, lifting her hand from the floor. There was a bruise forming there, but that much was to be expected. What else, then? He looked at her face. That's when he noticed it.

Her eyes were open. Not completely, just barely, with her top lashes still brushing against her bottom ones. But she was clearly sentient, with her eyes peering back and forth as if she was looking for something. And occasionally they rolled up into her head, and then back down. Dalamar emerged from the bathroom to find Raistlin staring curiously at Sikeen's face.

"What is it?" he asked, approaching her again.

"Make tea," said Raistlin dismissively, knowing he would need it soon. A muscle in Dalamar's jaw tensed and he made it a point to leave just a moment later than he normally did, hating how secretive his Shalafi was sometimes. This was _his_ friend, not Raistlin's. Nevertheless, he tromped down the stairs and set the water to boil.

Raistlin tried to figure out if she was dreaming, but her eyes were moving slowly, not like the rapid movements of a dreamer. What could it be? He waved his hand in front of her face, but it had no effect on her. Then it hit him. She was hallucinating.

For hours, she'd been hallucinating. He realized, then, why she always looked so tired. This is what happened when she tried to sleep, at least recently.

He hadn't had much experience here. There was no magic that could pull someone out of a trance that was not caused by magic in the first place. Figuring his best bet was to wake her, he shoved her a few times. Nothing changed.

"Sikeen!" he hissed, watching her carefully. Still nothing. He repeated her name louder and then she finally stirred, but she didn't wake. Leaning over her, he inadvertently let his hand rest on her wrist. Instantly, her eyes snapped open. He didn't need to say anything. Her breathing became quick as she looked at him, but it was a hollow stare, as if she didn't quite recognize him. She sat up abruptly and tried to wrench her hand away, terrified, but he held it firmly, watching her. What was she seeing?

She was about to open her mouth to say something when she realized she was awake. She remembered, then, that she'd gotten up. And the man in front of her was her Shalafi, not the same one she remembered from her childhood.

"Raistlin," she exhaled, utterly relieved. He stared at her curiously, forgetting to correct her use of his name.

"You were hallucinating," he said, sending a chill down her spine. He was looking at her like she was in a zoo.

"You can let go of me," she said, her eyes narrowing at him. He still had his hand wrapped tightly around her wrist. When he let go, they both noticed the pale yellow of a bruise beginning to form. "Thanks," she said sarcastically, sighing.

"I healed your wound," he said, glaring back at her. She gave him a curious look before remembering that she'd hit her head. Suddenly, it all came crashing back – she hadn't been asleep at all. She had been in the shower. Horrified, she pulled her towel closer around her body.

"Thank you," she muttered, wishing he would look away from her. She was never going to get used to needing the help of mages to get through her days. It was really quite belittling.

"What did you see?" he asked, still leaning in close to her. He'd forgotten all about triggering her and respecting her boundaries. This was far too interesting. Every time she tried to sleep, she hallucinated. What could it be?

So this, Sikeen thought, was the quality he possessed that made him the most powerful mortal being. Relentless curiosity. She had to admit, when he was really wrapped up in something it made him seem sort of childlike, and it would have been endearing had he been violating someone _else_.

"That's none of your business," she said, wanting to stand up. She had no idea how she would do it with the growing headache she was developing and the awkward angle Raistlin was sitting at. He would see right up her towel with that proximity. That fascinated stare was unnerving enough, fixated on her face_…_

"I suppose it isn't," he said, finally looking away to stare at the wall. He was still for a moment, frowning slightly as he processed this.

"You realize I'm wearing a towel, don't you? I'd really appreciate it if you let me get dressed and quit staring at me like I belong in a carnival." His eyes snapped back at her and he gave her a once over, his gaze lingering slightly on the bare curve of her neck and collarbones. She let out a dry laugh. It didn't matter _what_ he aspired to with his magic, Raistlin was far less of a gentleman than Dalamar and definitely just a regular boy, beneath it all. "You're still staring at me!" He cleared his throat, looking away before meeting her eyes.

"I'm trying to make _sense_ of you, elf." he said. It was one of the first things she'd heard him say that didn't hold some kind of undertone – no bitterness, no pity, no taunting. And strangely enough, he sounded more or less like a regular human being when he spoke without the frills.

"Raistlin! You were not; you were staring at me. Can you go?!" she repeated, her voice growing shrill. She clutched at the towel again, peeved. He really didn't know how to take a hint. By Gods, she was uncomfortable. Immediately, his eyes narrowed at her and the usual hostility was back.

"Shalafi, prisoner. Start feeding yourself properly or the closest you'll get to the forest will be a grave at its feet." Was that supposed to be encouragement? She wasn't sure, but he finally got up and walked away, velvet robes brushing the wood floor. She slowly rose to her feet and pulled some more of Dalamar's softest clothes on before collapsing on the bed to attempt rest once more.


	8. Chapter 8

b - l - a - d - e' - s - - e - d - g - e

- - : - - 8 - - : - -

Sikeen finally felt well enough to get on her feet, and was able to deliver the last cup of tea of the day. From what Dalamar had told her, Raistlin hadn't been doing well since the incident in the afternoon and was bedridden once again. She tapped on the door and let herself in when there was no reply.

He was curled up in bed, but definitely awake. He sat up a bit when she walked in and coughed hoarsely, leaving flecks of blood on the white sheets. There was a drop on his lip and she sighed, handing him the teacup.

"There's blood on your mouth," she said, feeling sorry for him. Despite making her skittish, he'd helped her out in the afternoon. He'd woken her up from the perpetual nightmare that was sleep in this tower. He wiped at his lips with the back of his hand and took a sip, feeling instant relief. There was a deep weariness in his eyes, which she figured was the result of years of pervasive illness.

She'd expected him to dismiss her right away, but instead he gestured for her to bring him his robe, which was draped over his desk chair. He often lost his voice, so this wasn't unusual, and she silently fetched it, assuming he would put it on. Instead, he rifled through the pockets, eventually producing a vial of clear liquid. He cleared his throat several times before forcing out a few words.

"Three drops. Sleep." She frowned at him, trying to wrap her mind around what he was saying.

"You're giving this to me?" she asked. He nodded once, staring at her. It was the hourglasses, she decided, that made his stare so nerve-wracking. She gingerly took the vial and looked at it, swirling the liquid around. "Thank you…" she said, not sure how else to respond. Though he'd been hostile and invasive as usual, he'd also done a few nice things for her today. "Really. Thank you, Shalafi." But when she looked up at him, he was already waving her away, curling back up under the blankets. She hurried away, excited to try her new medicine. Maybe she'd look less like a ghost once she got some quality rest.

That night, she finally managed to sleep properly. She woke out of instinct at dawn, feeling refreshed. The potion had worked like a charm. She was also pleased to note that her eyes looked slightly less sunken as well, after just one night of rest. In the kitchen, she ran into Dalamar, who was reading while he ate, as usual.

"I see you survived the night," he said, nodding at her.

"Raistlin gave me something," she said happily, setting the water to boil. She even plucked a banana from the fruit basket for breakfast. Dalamar put his book down slowly.

"What did he give you?"

"Dunno, it's clear and a bit shiny." He was giving her his characteristic mischievous look, a tiny smile playing on his lips. "What is it?"

"You oughta take a bit more tonight. And stay up a while. Might be a good time, you know." She narrowed her eyes at him, confused.

"Is it… liquor?"

"No. Better. You have to share with me." She danced around the counter, fishing for a teacup.

"Who says I have to share anything with you? Shalafi gave it to _me._" Dalamar's smirk widened.

"You called him Shalafi." Sikeen froze for a moment, realizing he was right.

"Obviously. We have to call him that," she said, brushing it off. "Force of habit."

"You never call him Shalafi when he's not around."

"I told you. Habit." The tea brewed and they stared at each other, Dalamar raising a brow at her.

"I'll be expecting you at midnight," he said, receiving only a goofy wiggle of her eyebrows and crossed eyes in response. He gave her a curious look as she turned back around, watching her gather up the tea to make her way into the hallway. She was wearing a deep green tunic of his, and it barely hung off of her, its neckline stretching from the edge of one shoulder to the other. With her back turned to him, he could stare all he wanted, and he did just that until she sauntered out the door. There was a sort of healthy, content glow to her today, and it made her that much more attractive.

| - - : - - x - - : - - |

Later that day, Raistlin was growing restless. There was something missing from the archive of spells he kept in his bedroom, and he had a growing suspicion that it had been left in the library last time he'd been down there. Annoyed and sick of being in his room, he grabbed the book he'd been reading and began making his way down the stairs, his eyes scanning a page through the half-light in the stairwell. Perhaps he'd missed it, and the spell was actually listed here. Frustrated, he began walking more slowly and eventually came to a complete stop, squinting at the pages.

"Ugh!" Sikeen stumbled before running into Raistlin, but managed to salvage the cup of tea in her hands by grabbing the cloth of his shirt for support and maneuvering quickly to retain balance. Sure she was going to drag him down the stairs, he instinctively dropped the book and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her forward. After the brief chaos, the two were finally still, breathing heavily from the almost-accident. He blinked at her, the eerie glow of her eyes startling him. The candlelight was bouncing off his high cheekbones, making him look all the more ominous.

"You tripped," he said blankly, frozen in place. She was warmer than he'd thought, like a furnace.

"Do you see how narrow this stairwell is?" she spat, glaring. "You were _standing_ in it."

"Be more careful," he said coldly, cocking his head at her. It dawned on Sikeen that they were far, far too close, and he hadn't let go of her yet. If he was going to be rude, she was going to be crude. Slowly, she leaned in toward his bare neck, where she could see his heartbeat pulsing against the skin. With her lips barely brushing against him, she spoke.

"You've still got your arms wrapped around me, Shalafi," she said throatily, carefully balancing the tea in her right hand. She could feel his heart rate speed up. But what he did next was unexpected. Instead of releasing her, he leaned in toward her ear, returning the favor.

"You've still got one hand tangled in my shirt." A chill shot straight through her spine. He didn't even _flinch_. This was _Raistlin._ He wasn't supposed to keep his cool when she all but kissed his neck! He was supposed to stammer something defensive and fling her away. Startled, she released him and stepped onto an even lower step, now two steps beneath him. She shoved the tea into his hands and cleared her throat. There was a tiny smile on his lips – he was _mocking_ her. The mage leaned against the stone wall, taking a sip of his tea. "And how _is_ the seduce-Shalafi-to-escape plan going?" he said, repeating Dalamar's words from the other day. She recognized them instantly. It was a moment before she could find her voice.

"I wasn't… I mean, I was just messing with you," she said, thankful there was no way he could see her slight blush in the dark. "Please," she scoffed with a toss of her hair, trying to brush off the whole situation. He raised a brow at her.

"Well, that didn't work either," he said evenly, seeing right through her little act. Sikeen was surprisingly defensive when things didn't go her way. She glared at him.

"If you don't mind, _Shalafi_, I have things to do," she said, whirling around. He waited until she was all the way down the steps before laughing to himself and scooping his book up off the floor. _You don't have anything to do,_ he thought idly as he made his way to the library. She was amusing when she was flustered. As he hunted for the right book, he had to actively ignore the slight tingling her lips had left on his skin.

Sikeen, meanwhile, sat in the kitchen, blushing beet red. That hadn't gone as planned. How would she face him again? It would be so awkward. He wasn't like Dalamar, who she could be flirtatious and silly with and it wouldn't mean anything. Raistlin was powerful, and scary, and obviously more difficult to catch off-guard than she had thought. And he'd turned that situation around in a _second_. He wasn't even the slightest bit rattled. Something about it left her deeply disturbed – she was usually so good at making people uncomfortable that when she couldn't she felt vulnerable.

As she begin to calm down, she started a fishtail braid just in time for Dalamar to wander in again. They seemed to meet in the kitchen more often than anywhere else in the Tower. When she saw him, she immediately began blushing again, praying he hadn't overheard her and Raistlin in the stairwell. He hadn't, but he noticed her discomfort immediately.

"Something wrong?" he asked, fishing through the fruit basket for a ripe peach.

"Of course not. Why?" she asked, keeping her eyes trained on her braid. He held a peach up to her face from across the room and then placed it on the table in front of her.

"You're about this color; that's why." He snatched up the peach again and bit into it, watching her.

"Don't know what you mean," she said quickly, pulling her braid apart and restarting. It wasn't turning out right.

"I'm not sure I want to know," he said, laughing. "But you look tremendously embarrassed, and I'm thinking this has to do with wooing Shalafi in an escape attempt."

"For Gods' sake, I was _messing_ with him!" she hissed, immediately regretting it. She shouldn't have said that.

"Oh, so you did try again?" he asked, taking a seat across from her at the table. "I take it back. I want to know."

"There's nothing to know," she mumbled, all but hiding behind her braid.

"You have to tell me," he insisted, leaning in toward her.

"I don't _have_ to do anything," she said, wanting to sink into her chair.

"How did he react? Did he hex you? Did he shove you away and mutter something about your insolence?" She heaved a massive sigh, sick of his pestering.

"No! Gods! He just—" She paused, not knowing how to put this. "He seduced me right back! Or tried to. I don't know. He didn't even flinch," she finished, feeling pathetic. Living here was not good for her ego.

A strange look crossed Dalamar's features. It was something between concern and surprise, and Sikeen realized this was the second bizarre reaction she'd gotten from her cohabitants that day. "What?" she asked, tying off the braid and laying it on her shoulder. "You wanted to know."

"I just can't really picture that," he said slowly, frowning. "Odd."

"Apparently women don't faze him like we thought," she said casually, wanting to take the edge off the conversation. After one heated encounter, she really wasn't in the mood for another.

"Apparently not," repeated Dalamar, confused. He stood up and made for the door, spitting the pit of his peach into the trash. "Midnight. I'm expecting you," he reminded her.

"I'll be there," she said in a singsong voice, examining her braid.

| - - : - - x - - : - - |

Her next few tea deliveries went by without incident. She managed to avoid eye contact with Raistlin and was dismissed right away, as usual, which she considered to be a great mercy. She'd come to accept the fact that avoiding Raistlin was impossible, and not having to speak to him was the best she'd get. After her last delivery of the day, she receded to her room and re-did her braid, waiting patiently for Raistlin to fall asleep so she could sneak across the landing to Dalamar's. It wasn't the sneaking around she was so worried about, but more so the trouble they would get in if he woke from their chatter and found them overdosing on the potion he gave her. It was important that he was completely asleep before they started.

She killed two hours by reading, dozing in and out of sleep, and re-tying her braid a few times before finally letting it out, allowing her hair to rest naturally on her shoulders. When the tiny clock on the wall finally read midnight, she grabbed the vial and crept across the landing, wincing at the creaky floorboards she disturbed. Raistlin was surely asleep by now, right? She knocked on Dalamar's door and he opened it almost immediately, his usual mischievous grin spread across his features as he glanced to the ceiling, as if he could see up to his Shalafi's room. When she was safely inside, he finally spoke.

"Did you bring it?" She pulled the vial from her pocket.

"If I'd forgotten, it's not a long walk…"

"Excellent," he said, leading her into his chambers. She could see now why he'd decided to move from across the hall. Sikeen's suite contained only a bedroom and bathroom, whereas Dalamar's current one had a sitting area, a study, and a larger bedroom and bathroom. Of course, it was also a disaster, with various half-empty vials and clothes strewn about every determinable surface. He led her into the sitting area and she picked up what seemed to be a solid gold ring. Eyeing it, she ran her fingers along its smooth surface. "Oh. Don't touch that," said Dalamar quickly. She shot him a quizzical look. "Very dangerous." Not wanting to ask questions, she delicately put it back on the table, brows raised. He pulled a chair from the corner of the room and gestured for her to have a seat on the couch, turning the chair around to sit on it backwards. "Vial, please," he said, holding his hand out. She pulled it from her pocket once more and handed it to him. "Stick your tongue out."

"I can do it myself, thanks," said Sikeen, amused.

"Who has the vial; you or me?" asked Dalamar, smirking at her. She rolled her eyes and leaned toward him, sticking her tongue out. Carefully, he administered what seemed to be between eight and ten drops on her tongue, and she winced from the bitterness. He then did the same to himself and put the vial on the table. "And now we wait."

"How long does it take?" she asked, waiting for the taste to wash down her throat.

"Dunno, really. Haven't done this in a long time. I had trouble sleeping when I first arrived and Shalafi gave me some of this too, but since then… haven't seen it."

"What is it, anyway?"

"Magic, obviously." She glared at him.

"Obviously."

About twenty minutes went by before Sikeen stood up to grab the blanket she'd seen in the other room, but as soon as she did she was plunged into a peculiar sort of vertigo. Confused, she grabbed the sofa for support and blinked rapidly, a warm sensation similar to that of alcohol's effects welling up in her chest. "I think it's working?" she said, accidentally stating it like a question. Dalamar's laughter seemed slow and faraway, but comforting.

"Looks like it. Maybe you should sit back down," he advised, looking up at her curiously. She collapsed back onto the sofa, no longer in need of the blanket. It felt like summer, like she might have been outside in a warm night breeze. Sighing, she giggled up at the ceiling.

"This is really odd," she said slowly, eyes widening at Dalamar. Somehow, she felt aware of his breathing, which was slow and even. He grinned at her.

"It is, isn't it? Feels like we're not here." There was some odd clarity to that – it truly did feel like they were elsewhere, somewhere better.

"Sit over here, will you?" asked Sikeen, running a hand through her hair. Her own fingers left little tingles along her scalp that made her laugh. Dalamar took a seat on the couch, a safe three feet away from her, with his legs crossed pretzel-style.

"What're you laughing at?"

"My head is ticklish!" she said, laughing again. He ran a hand through his own hair, which was nearly as long as hers, and felt the same sensation.

"That is odd," he said, resisting his own laughter.

"I'm getting so sleepy," mumbled Sikeen, leaning against the back of the couch and flashing him an intoxicated grin.

"Don't fall asleep! It'll go away," he insisted. Laughing again, she hoisted her head up to rest on her hand, forcing herself to look at him. An idea sprang to his mind. "I know what'll wake you up. Let's go outside." Her eyes widened, almost comically.

"Outside? Can we escape?" she asked desperately, amazed. Had he found a way out?

"Not quite… but you'll enjoy it." Giggling, she let him grab her by the hand and lead her into the stairwell, where he put a finger over her lips. "He's a light sleeper," whispered Dalamar, leading her quietly up the steps. She had to clap her own hand over her mouth to keep the laughter from escaping. There was just something unexplainably humorous about the whole situation.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, forgetting to whisper. Dalamar shot her a look – they were just passing by Raistlin's door. He could very well have heard. In response, he only put a finger to his own lips and widened his eyes at her, reminding her to stay quiet. "Oops," she whispered, returning her hand to her mouth.

Raistlin had heard. In fact, he was wide awake, immersed in his usual reading. The usual silence of the Tower was interrupted by Sikeen's musical, obviously intoxicated voice in a heartbeat. He spun his desk chair around, narrowing his eyes at the door. Dalamar was taking her somewhere. But where? Why?


	9. Chapter 9

b - l - a - d - e' - s - - e - d - g - e

- - : - - 9 - - : - -

Sikeen grabbed the vial and returned it to her pocket before they left, not wanting to forget it. Dalamar led her into a stairwell she had noticed before but never paid attention to, as it was always shrouded in shadow. It was just beyond the entrance to Raistlin's chambers, and as he guided her now into the darkness, he prayed his Shalafi hadn't overheard them. As quietly as they could, they made their way up the ink-black steps. It was dark enough that even Sikeen, who possessed superior night vision, couldn't see further than one step beyond where she stood, and Dalamar slid his hand around her waist just in case she tripped. It felt like ages before they reached the top of the stairs, which let out into a circular room, much like the one Sikeen had first seen in the Tower.

"Where are we?"

"Shalafi doesn't have the highest suite in the tower," said Dalamar quietly, pacing over to a pair of wide, glass doors across the clearing. "This is the top tier. He put a hand on one of the doorknobs and looked over his shoulder, smirking at her. "Come here." She did as she was told, fascinated. This place was bigger than any other room in the Tower, and had a strange glow to it, as if moonlight was reflecting off the tiles despite the closed curtains. Dalamar grabbed her hand again, but differently this time, with his fingers intertwined in hers. She was about to say something when he pulled the door open, revealing a glistening, ebony balcony.

"Gods," she breathed, suddenly forgetting her protest and gripping his hand tighter. She hadn't been outside in weeks. He took a step forward, satisfied with himself, and led her to the sleek wrought-iron railing. The Grove stretched out before them for what seemed like a mile, and there was a peculiar stillness in the night air that almost felt like heaviness. Had it rained? Breathless, she looked out at Palanthas in all its moonlit glory. Any contact with the outside would have been glorious to her, but this was simply breathtaking. She felt like a goddess, standing so high above everything else. In fact, she couldn't remember ever being so high above the rest of the world before.

Dalamar couldn't decide if he wanted to enjoy the view or watch her reaction. Every time she blinked and opened her eyes she looked as if she were taking it all in again and again, amazed that there was even a world still out there. The moonlight shone off her pale skin in a truly pearlescent way, reminding him of the tiles inside. Tentatively, he stepped behind her and pulled her hair from her shoulders, letting it rest on her back before running his hands through it once more. It was a moment before she reacted. "What are you doing?" she asked, wide-eyed. His fingers were making her scalp tingle again. Once again, he eyed the flawless skin of her bare shoulders contrasting with the deep green of his tunic.

"I think my clothes really suit you," he said, unable to resist another goofy grin. The potion was doing something to his head, making him say things he generally preferred to keep under wraps. But it felt like a dream, as if she might not know in the morning because she wasn't really there.

Raistlin was just arriving at the top of the stairs when he saw this, and instinctively slunk back to the shadows.

"_Dulak_," he muttered, letting the Staff go dark. He drew in a sharp breath at hearing his apprentice, and suddenly felt ridiculous for spying on him. But he had a reason – he wasn't allowed up here. Dalamar had a habit of leaving doors ajar, and the draft that came in from this room went straight to his chambers below. Unable to turn away, he continued watching them, feeling increasingly silly with every passing moment. So Dalamar had come up here. He could punish his apprentice in the morning. What business was it of his what Dalamar did with Sikeen? As he pondered this, he watched the scene unfold.

"They're far too big for me," said Sikeen, returning his smile over her shoulder. He was acting strange – that much was clear. _It must be the potion_, she reasoned giddily, not sure if she minded. Dalamar was extremely attractive. If he wanted to run his hands through her hair and compliment her, she'd let him. After all, it was nothing. This was _Dalamar_.

"Maybe that's why I like how you look in them," he said, his hands brushing against her bare neck. She was getting dizzy from the electricity of his touch.

"You're certainly full of praise tonight," she said with as much sarcasm as she could muster. She was flattered. Would it really be so awful, she thought, to be with him? He was really a great friend. Maybe he could be more. It was the first time she'd considered it. As if answering her question, he put a hand on her waist and pulled her gently around to face him. His other hand floated down to her hips and he gave her a long, loaded stare. "What?" she asked, glancing frantically from one eye to the other. What was he thinking? "Dalamar?" she barely noticed as he inched closer to her, and in just a few moments his lips brushed lightly against hers. A buzz shot through her instantly, encouraging her to reach up to him and wrap her arms around his neck. Taking this as a cue, he pulled her closer to his body and kissed her again, silently, with greater force.

Immediately, something felt wrong. She pulled away several seconds later, taken aback. He certainly had a way with his tongue. But it felt… off. She was about to say something when he all but pushed her to the ground, his hands secured behind her back to break her fall. "Dalamar—" Before she could stop him, he kissed her again. The wound on the back of her head began burning again, and she feared it would open once more. Terrified, she kissed him back once before turning away. "Dalamar, stop!" It was as if he hadn't even heard her. He pinned her already-bruised wrists roughly to the tile, his head dipping into the curve of her neck, kissing her right above the cloth. The tingling of his touch was getting to be uncomfortable, and she instantly began searching their surroundings for a weapon. There was nothing. They were on a completely bare balcony, devoid of absolutely anything she could use to harm him. She thrashed as much as she could underneath his weight and was about to scream when he quickly transferred both her wrists to one broad hand, using the other to cover her lips.

"Shh," he said, meeting her eyes. There was something deceptively soothing in his voice, and something cold and vicious in his eyes. She pled as much as she could, silently, in the look that she gave him. She couldn't imagine herself looking anything less than absolutely petrified. The potion clouded her mind and her vision flickered back and forth between what was actually happening and the abuse she'd suffered as a child. Horrified, she let out a choked sob.

Instantly, something shifted within him. He released her as if she'd caught fire and scrambled backward, jumping to his feet. Speechless, he watched as she gasped for breath and sat up, tears streaming down her face. His eyes widened at the wet stain behind her – her head was bleeding again. "Gods, no," he said, shocked. What had he _done?_ She reached one hand gingerly around and felt the back of her head, letting out another sob when she felt the blood. "I'm sorry. Sikeen, I'm sorry." His apology seemed to float out over the edge of the balcony. Stumbling slightly, she used the railing to pull herself to her feet and backed away from him, returning to the safety of the Tower. He was rooted in place, trying desperately to wrap his mind around his actions. "Sikeen, please," he begged, overcome with guilt.

Raistlin was frozen in place, watching the whole ordeal with sick curiosity. Just two weeks ago, Dalamar had implied that Raistlin would force himself on her, and ignore her when she screamed for him to leave. But just now, he'd witnessed Dalamar himself acting in that exact manner. Perhaps the reason why he was so paranoid was because it was something he'd do himself.

He should have stepped in. It didn't have to get to this point. Sikeen was bleeding again, though not as badly as before, and was obviously thoroughly shaken up. He should have stopped him. Why hadn't he? It was something he didn't have time to ponder, because as soon as she felt she was at a safe distance, she turned her back to Dalamar and ran, with full force, toward the stairwell. Raistlin stood, rooted to the ground, aware that she couldn't see him in the dark. She was about to run directly into him when she stopped, turning around again. Of course. She wasn't the type to run without at least saying something.

"I trusted you!" she screamed, her voice likely echoing over the Grove. Dalamar stood, eyes wide. He almost looked more shocked than her.

"I'm sorry," he said again, sounding rather meek. This was his chance. Raistlin hurried to the bottom of the stairwell, stopping before he entered his chambers. He couldn't do it. He couldn't just walk away like this.

"_Shirak_," he said. The Staff instantly lit up again.

Sikeen began hurrying down the stairs, assuming she was hallucinating when she saw the blue light at the bottom. She had to escape to her room, and bar the door with something. She would figure out a way out tomorrow, even if it meant traveling through the Grove by foot. Staying here was absolutely out of the question. On the landing, however, she realized she hadn't been hallucinating at all. Raistlin stood in the pale light, his brow slightly furrowed. She balked, sure she would vomit. Had he seen? Had he heard?

There was no time to ask. Dalamar's footsteps were echoing through the stairwell, and she needed to get out of his sight, and fast. She wanted to get as far away from him as possible, but the Tower made that difficult. If she went down the stairs now, he could corner her on the landing below. That, or he could simply come into her room before she had a chance to block the door. Thinking on her feet, she darted past Raistlin and into his chambers. Thankfully, she heard no protest over her shoulder.

When Dalamar reached the landing, he recoiled immediately at the sight of his master.

"Shalafi, you're awake," he said quickly, slightly frenzied and still under the influence.

"Go to your quarters. Now," said Raistlin sternly, glaring at him through the darkness.

"Did you see—"

"_Now_. I don't want to see you _or_ hear you until morning." He had no choice but to obey. Praying Sikeen was in the stairwell, he rushed down the stairs and emerged at the bottom, disappointed. Her door was still ajar. There was no way she was in her quarters. And he had a strong suspicion that she wouldn't have gone back to his, either. Disappointed that he couldn't properly apologize and confused, he slunk back to his chambers and collapsed on the sofa, still unable to wrap his mind around what he'd done. She would never trust him again. He'd completely destroyed their friendship, in just a matter of minutes. Did Shalafi know? Would he even see her again, or would she hide from him forever?

He hadn't meant to. He hadn't planned it, or even thought about it until it had happened. Not much, anyway. Was it because he hadn't even seen a woman in months before she arrived? Was it the potion? He didn't know, but he was ashamed, and feeling more remorse than he could remember ever feeling before. Dazed, he collapsed onto the sofa in his chambers and fell asleep.

Raistlin, meanwhile, shut the door behind him carefully. There was only one candle lit in his quarters – the one on his desk. Where was she? He peered around the darkness. There was no sight of her anywhere in the bedroom or sitting area.

"Sikeen?" he said, wondering if his mind had been playing tricks on him. Maybe she'd gone down the stairs when he turned around, or snuck out before he walked in. Not expecting to find anything, he checked the bathroom. Still no sign of her. Next, he tried the walk-in closet.

There she was, curled up underneath his robes. The shadows fell over her dark clothing and if he hadn't had the staff with him, he wouldn't have noticed her. In her hands was his letter opener, clutched tightly. Apparently, she'd fallen asleep instantly. After an event like that? It seemed odd.

He didn't have the heart to wake her. Quickly, he mumbled a spell to stop the bleeding from her head and turned away. He would ask her to leave in the morning, he decided, about to shut the door and sleep in his own bed. Before he did, however, he stopped himself, and left it a crack open. That way, she wouldn't wake up in total darkness. He stepped back into his bedroom and ran a hand through his hair. Could he really let her stay here? It seemed… improper. But she was already asleep, after all. It wasn't his choice to make. Unless he was willing to wake her up and force her to go downstairs, and that much closer to Dalamar, who she was obviously terrified of right now. He'd seen the way she'd bolted into his chambers when she'd heard him coming. Perhaps she hadn't intended to fall asleep here at all. Maybe she was just hiding, and had inadvertently passed out.

He'd talk to her in the morning. Right now, he was growing weary. He blew out the candle on his desk and got into bed, wondering if Dalamar would bring him tea tomorrow. If he was as exhausted as Sikeen, probably not.

| - - : - - x - - : - - |

Sikeen awoke with a start, clutching the letter-opener even tighter. It was a moment before she realized she was still in Raistlin's closet – the beam of light from the cracked door was what tipped her off. As quietly as she could, she crawled out from under the robes and pushed the door open, listening for Raistlin. There was nothing but silence for a moment, and then he started coughing. From what she could tell, it sounded bad. In fact, it wouldn't stop. For a couple of minutes he hacked violently, and then he sucked in several desperate gasps of air. She heard the shuffling of bedcovers and a thud, and then more coughing.

_Damn, now he'll never leave._ She had been hoping he would be gone by the time she woke up. Then, she could escape quietly and approach the Grove. She wouldn't have to say goodbye to him _or_ Dalamar. Unfortunately, right now Raistlin seemed like he would never leave. Figuring it was best to just nod her farewell and make her exit, she stepped out of the closet.

Immediately, she hesitated. He was on his knees on the floor, leaning on one arm with the other pressed against his chest. His face was contorted in agony and he let out another cough, drops of blood appearing on the wood floor. She squeezed her eyes shut, hating the sympathy he was evoking from her. He looked absolutely _helpless._

Where was Dalamar? Could she avoid him and get the tea? What time was it, anyway? How many deliveries had she missed? He looked up and saw her standing there, and was about to stand himself when he delved into another coughing fit. When he was done, he finally spoke, his voice raspy from his raw throat.

"Good morning," he said, forcing himself to his feet. She winced, watching him. She'd seen him sick before and she'd heard him cough just as violently from outside the door before. But somehow, seeing him suffer from up close like this made her feel guilty for how often she was late with his tea. Or, for that matter, how often she ignored her duties completely. "You're awake." He brushed himself off, coughing again slightly.

"Yes… Did Dalamar bring the tea?"

"Never mind that. May I have my letter opener back?" She grimaced, remembering the makeshift weapon she had grabbed last night. Feeling foolish, she walked over to the desk and placed it gently down. Despite the fact that she could do quite a bit of damage with a letter opener, it must have seemed ridiculous to him.

She wanted to offer to go down to the kitchen and brew tea, but she didn't have the heart to potentially face Dalamar again. There was no way she could look the dark elf in the eye after what he'd attempted last night, let alone be alone with him. It was a complete breach of her trust. Her face fell as she tried to wrap her mind around it once more. He'd almost… she couldn't finish the thought. He was her friend. And yet, he'd still ignored her when she told him to stop.

Raistlin noticed her expression, but didn't know what to say. Would she want to discuss it with him? Did she even know he'd seen? Deciding to ignore the situation, he made his way to the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked suddenly, snapping out of her reverie. She hoped he'd lock the door when he left.

"The kitchen." She took a deep breath, once again wishing she could offer to make the tea for him. He looked especially sunken today. "I brewed it myself during the War," he said, noticing her guilt. With that, he made his exit and trotted down the stairs.

He couldn't let her stay here for too long. It would be too strange, having her sleep in the closet every night. And what was the other alternative? Letting her sleep in his bed while _he_ slept in the closet? His mind jumped to a third conclusion – letting her occupy the other half of his bed – but he shoved it from his thoughts immediately. After what he'd witnessed last night, he had a feeling Sikeen wouldn't sleep within ten feet of anyone. He'd have to ask her to stay in her own room tonight.

Meanwhile, she had made a decision. She would wait until they were both asleep and then sneak out the ground-level exit to approach the Grove by night. It was a tremendously risky plan, but death in the forest would be better than being trapped here with Dalamar. She'd already been trapped and abused, and had no interest in dealing with it again.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: So I'm not sure if I like how this chapter turned out, but I'm hoping it helps develop her relationship with Raistlin a bit. I also hope it doesn't seem _too_ unnatural or odd. It's supposed to be a bit surreal. Urrrrghhhhhh writing after midnight is hard.

b - l - a - d - e' - s - - e - d - g - e

- - : - - 10 - - : - -

Sikeen stared after him, noticing that he hadn't locked the door. She crept closer, not sure what to do. Dalamar wouldn't come up here, would he? She drew close to the surface, listening. There was nothing but silence. Gingerly, she pulled the door open slightly and peered onto the landing. A candle was lit in one of the sconces mounted on the wall. Someone had to have lit it. Raistlin had just gotten out of bed, so it could only be Dalamar. She shuddered – he'd been this close to her recently.

From the steps, she could hear muffled voices. So they were both downstairs. With the trained silence of a killer, she crept toward the staircase and listened. Their words were still distorted with the echo, so she made her way halfway down the stairs and stopped when it became clear.

"You need to re-alphabetize the books in the library."

"I did that last week, Shalafi."

"Do it again." Sizzling from the frying pan was the only thing she heard for a few moments. "Funny how you thought I'd force myself on her." There was another moment of silence. Downstairs, Dalamar bristled, frozen. Raistlin took a sip, staring at his apprentice's back.

"I didn't mean to." There was another pause. Sikeen had a feeling Raistlin didn't plan on giving him a reply. Her heart dropped a little at this feeble attempt at an explanation – she'd seen the iciness in his eyes as he clapped his hand over her mouth. He'd meant to. There was absolutely no doubt about that. "I haven't seen her all day; where is she?"

"Haven't the faintest clue. Maybe she escaped." There was an obvious sarcastic edge to his tone. She heard the scraping of a chair on the floor as he got up.

"Shalafi—"

"When you're done with the books, clean the balcony room. It's dusty." Dalamar's jaw tensed. Raistlin was treating him like a maid. Obviously, he was annoyed. But was it because he'd accused him of the very thing he'd nearly done or was it because he was disappointed in him? Or both? All he could do was mutter acknowledgement of his master's command and watch as he swept out the door. He never had to clean the balcony room. Raistlin was sending him there for a reason. Meanwhile, his omelet burned in its skillet.

As he started to come back up the stairs, Sikeen decided not to move. As long as Dalamar was in the kitchen, there was no harm in staying and letting Raistlin know she'd heard them.

"So are you being horrible to him because of his hypocrisy or because he almost raped me?" she whispered, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed as he approached. He sighed, rolling his eyes.

"I'm generally horrible to him," he said with a sneer. From behind him, Sikeen heard the kitchen door open. Immediately, she whipped around and hurried back up the stairs and into Raistlin's quarters. It wasn't until she was safely halfway to his closet that she realized she was truly running and hiding from her attacker. It felt pathetic, but there was no other option. She stopped herself from actually entering the closet and turned around, watching Raistlin pull the curtains back slightly. The light made her squint and she took a step back, annoyed.

"You didn't answer my question."

"You can't stay here, Sikeen," said Raistlin, letting the curtain fall back again as he turned around.

"You _still_ didn't answer my question."

"I don't intend to. Dalamar will be upstairs all day; you can return to your quarters then." She blinked at him, knowing she needed to stall a bit. She wasn't going to creep back downstairs until both of them were asleep, and that was only to gather her things before leaving.

"Can I just…" She put on her best woeful maiden expression and glanced to the side, running a hand through her hair. "Can I just stay here the rest of the day, at least? I'll leave at night; I promise." Raistlin was shuffling the papers on his desk, looking for something. He found a thin, leather-bound journal and was already making his way to the door before answering.

"Just for the day. I won't be here."

"Lock the door," she blurted out before he had his hand on the knob.

"Shalafi," he said coldly before exiting. Sure enough, he locked the door behind him, confining her. Perfect. She was safe now, at least for the time being. She waited until his footsteps faded away and collapsed into the armchair she'd found him in the other day, gazing into the empty fireplace. She needed to kill some time.

Suddenly, the bathroom seemed inviting. She could use a long bath. She stripped off Dalamar's clothes, shuddering as she remembered who they belonged to, and tossed them to the tiles. Leaving the door open, she sank into the warm water and closed her eyes, her hair floating around her. If she tried really hard, she could almost forget about what had happened.

She had just pulled Dalamar's tunic back on and wrung out her hair when the door opened abruptly. Raistlin's fingers tightened around the doorknob when he saw her, sitting on the edge of the empty tub with dripping wet hair and wearing nothing but the oversized green shirt. She glanced up suddenly and stood, horrified. If he'd come in a _moment_ earlier…

"You said you wouldn't be here," she said quickly.

"I forgot—"

"Sorry—"

"You didn't—" They interrupted each other until suddenly falling silent. Raistlin ripped his eyes away and approached his desk as casually as possible, pulling a drawer open. "You didn't tell me you were going to take a bath."

"I didn't think you'd be back!"

"Shalafi! Stop forgetting!" He slammed the door behind him. Sikeen glared at where he'd been standing, annoyed. She was leaving tonight anyway. What was the point of going to the effort of remembering the title? She drew in an angry breath and paced, braiding her wet hair.

It was difficult to tell when, exactly, but she soon found herself falling asleep. It occurred to her that she was in the wrong place – on his bed, maybe – but it was too hard to move. After her tumultuous night, her body just wanted more rest. It wasn't long before she was completely unconscious.

Raistlin returned once more to pick up another journal, but didn't notice her at first. It wasn't until he was about to leave that he realized she was sleeping in his bed, on _his_ side. And her hair was getting the pillow all wet. Glaring, his eyes once again traveled over her body. She was really drowning in his bedspread – he hadn't seen her at first because she barely made a dent in its plush surface. Slowly, his gaze softened. Her face was barely peeking out from under the covers. It was… endearing. If he looked past the fact that she was drenching his pillow and being ridiculously inconsiderate.

He disappeared once more. When he returned for the night, she was back to sleeping in the closet, or at least it seemed so. His pillow had dried, but it smelled unusual. Like his shampoo, but somehow different. She was supposed to go back to her quarters at the end of the day. He'd send her out first thing in the morning. Right now, he was exhausted. There was a time when he'd been used to brewing his own tea and having to keep up with Tanis and his brother, but he'd grown spoiled, having not one but two elves at his service in the Tower. Today, however, Dalamar had been preoccupied scrubbing the balcony room clean and Sikeen was hiding out in his bedroom. He'd made his way down to the kitchen from the laboratory several times for tea and it was truly tiring.

Sikeen waited an hour after he'd gotten in bed and crept out from under the robes, sneaking toward the bedroom door. He hadn't awoken. Dalamar had said he was a light sleeper. He must have been even more tired than usual tonight, however, since when she turned the doorknob he didn't stir. She peered out into the dark landing, wondering if Dalamar was asleep.

It was then that she realized how insane this plan was. No one could get through the Grove, especially not her. Not without Raistlin. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the rush of pain that knowledge of her confinement brought. Praying he would stay asleep, she stepped silently back into the room and shut the door, sinking to her knees. This was where she'd stay, forever. Locked up with a psychotic mage and his apprentice, who now made her cower in fear. She stared hollowly at the darkness in front of her, a deep sadness welling up in her chest. What was the point now? Why live? Why do anything? What did it matter? She'd began her life locked in a cell and now her life would end in the same way. A hot tear was about to escape her eye when a voice spoke from behind her.

"I had a feeling you were awake." He was standing behind her, suddenly. She whipped around, glad that he couldn't see the look on her face, which she was sure revealed just how pitiful she felt.

"I…" She trailed off, realizing she had nothing to say in the first place. She began to brush past him to get back to the closet but his hand was suddenly around her wrist. She winced, jerking it back. Immediately, he let go, noticing her response.

"Where were you going? I thought you were afraid to leave," he challenged, completely unable to see the misery on her face. She swallowed, staring at the floor.

"Where do you think I was going, Shalafi?" she asked bitterly, glaring at him through the darkness.

"That's not an answer."

"You don't answer my questions; I don't answer yours." She tried with all her might to throw her usual defiance at him, but her voice shook just enough for him to hear. The tear of frustration she'd been holding back finally broke loose and she refused to wipe at it, because that would acknowledge it was there. She was about to slink back into the closet to enjoy her misery when Raistlin spoke again.

"I haven't dismissed you." This struck a chord with her. She whipped around, glaring at him.

"You can't dismiss me! I'll never get away from you and this godforsaken Tower!" Her voice had broken into a scream, and a sob escaped her lips. She swallowed back the next one and ran a hand through her hair, breathing heavily. "I hate you and Dalamar both." She paused, freezing up slightly. There was no time for a breath, even, before the words escaped her lips: "I wish to die."

Her words were stunningly heavy. Raistlin immediately wished she hadn't said anything, not only because it made him uncomfortable to know, but because her desire to end her own life hit him like a hammer to the chest. She truly wanted to just… end it all. There was no hesitation, no overblown drama, no exaggeration or whining cry for help in the way she'd said it.

What he did next could only be blamed on some deeply-rooted human instinct. Through the darkness, he reached forward to tentatively brush the tears from her face. But as soon as his skin touched hers, she recoiled. There was a moment during which she glanced up at him through her lashes, and suddenly, everything became a blur. She'd shoved him onto his back before he could respond and he resisted the urge to immediately cast a defensive spell – the whole situation felt off. Dreamlike, maybe. Like everything had been real until she snapped.

Sikeen drew the letter-opener from her waistband and pressed its blade against his neck, positioning it flawlessly over where his heartbeat pulsed against the skin. The metal was still hot from her body heat. It occurred to Raistlin that she must have stolen it again, and he hadn't noticed. "I could just kill you now. I could kill both of you, and myself." The way her voice came out – cold, robotic, nearly – only made it all the more surreal. His heart raced. Suddenly, she was unrecognizable. He knew he should push her off, or fight back. Instead, he spoke.

"This isn't you." It was a quiet observation, but she didn't miss the slight tremor in his tone. That wild curiosity was back in his eyes, lighting up his fear with the marked naiveté of someone who only wanted to know it all. But it was self-induced fear. She didn't truly have any power over him; he was only restraining himself.

"You don't know me," she hissed back, a tiny smirk playing on her lips. She pressed the blade closer to his throat, delighting in his terror, regardless of who was causing it. It would only take a moment. Just a tiny bit more pressure, a change of angle…

"I know you better than anyone." The shake in his voice was gone. She hadn't heard him speak with such conviction before – it was in the way he met her eyes, in the way his fear dissolved. Her hand shook.

He was _right._

"I see how you do it," he continued, staring at her icily with the blade between them. "You turn into someone else. You can't be honest with yourself. You're not a killer. You're just… voluntarily dissociative." She glared at him, taking slow, deep breaths.

"Are you asking for proof of what I am?" she growled, hating her trembling hand.

"I just saw it." He felt a slight release of pressure as she perhaps contemplated pulling the blade away, and took that opportunity to finally act. With one hand wrapped tightly around her wrist, her grip loosened just enough for him to grab the makeshift weapon with his other hand. It was just another moment before she was pushed off of him onto her own back. He stood up, brushing himself off. It wasn't until then that she noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt. He stared down at her as she gaped up at him, lost in a head rush. If there were ever a time to kick her out, it would be now – she'd just made an honest attempt on his life. But she'd also expressed a strong desire to end her own life. He couldn't keep her here on suicide watch, but it felt wrong to push her away while she was so miserable. Silently, he condemned his conscience and ran a hand through his hair, turning away from her.

"Get off the floor," he said, annoyed at the way she was glaring up at him with her jaw tensed, as if _he'd_ done something wrong. He was doing her a favor, letting her stay here. She should be downstairs. Surprisingly, she obeyed, trying to ignore the headache that came with standing up. The adrenaline ebbed out of her bloodstream and she only glanced momentarily at his bare shoulders before he turned around. He was all lean muscle, not sickly like she'd pictured. Not that she'd pictured it. "I should send you downstairs now, in the dark, at night," he hissed. She took a deep breath and crossed her arms over her chest.

"I could have killed you. What you should do is take me through the Grove and send me miles away," she said, still irritated at the whole situation. The anger between them was palpable, as if aflame.

"You say that as if you wouldn't be held accountable. You have been held accountable for what you did; that is why you're here." He took a step toward her, crossing his arms himself, mirroring her. "And," he started, leaning down slightly. His proximity forced her to look up at him instinctively. "You and I both know you can't kill me." She shook with rage, resisting the urge to attack him again.

It occurred to Raistlin that Sikeen wasn't a natural killer. She didn't crave the control that came with having someone's life in her hands. But she'd known that control, and it was a reflex to attempt to regain an upper hand by threatening her enemies' lives.

"And what kept me 'safe', just now?" he continued, the familiar taunting tone creeping back into his voice. "I do know you better than anyone. I understand your secret." She could hear the smirk in his words as she tore his eyes away from his, lips pressed tightly together. His use of the word 'understand' was peculiar, she thought absently, but accurate. Lots of people knew. But did anyone understand?

"I _hate_ you," she said, trying to sound as toxic as possible. It only came out sounding pathetic. To make matters worse, her eyes wandered again to his bare collarbones, pressed against his skin. In the moonlight, the gold tint had caught her eye. It looked silver. He frowned, trying to figure out what she was looking at. When he realized it was him, he backed away immediately.

"Stop that," he hissed, gaping at her. She glared even more, realizing she'd been caught.

"Maybe if you wore clothes once in a while—" She drew in a sharp breath, stopping herself. Raistlin usually wore a bloody _cloak_. She rolled her eyes, feeling the tension lessen. As the anger lifted from them both, it felt like the air became lighter. Like maybe nothing had ever gone wrong, anywhere. And here they both were, caught up in how utterly casual it suddenly felt. It was intoxicating.

He couldn't resist as his lips twisted into a bemused grin. Sikeen couldn't tell who started laughing first – Raistlin or her. Perhaps they were both clinging to how lighthearted everything suddenly was, but it wasn't long before they were both doubled over, Sikeen leaning one hand on his desk. "Sorry," she said, wiping at her eyes. "Sorry!"

Raistlin recovered his composure first and leaned on his bed, a small grin still on his face. He hadn't laughed in a long time. At something so ridiculous, too – it felt surreal again, watching her as she attempted to stop regain herself. Somehow, her assassination attempt felt like years ago. Like maybe she _hadn't_ just tried to slaughter him with a letter opener. He glanced at it, tossed on the floor where he'd left it. His face fell again. It wasn't years ago. As usual, something felt horribly off about it all. Suddenly, her laughter sounded delirious. And just as quickly, it came to a close as she noticed his expression. "What?" she asked, calming down. He shook his head, looking away.

"Nothing," he said, coughing slightly. She blinked at him.

"You're looking at me like—"

"Like you just tried to kill me?" he interrupted coldly, raising a brow at her. She let out a dry laugh.

"Like you care. You could have set me on fire if you wanted," she said nonchalantly. Just like that, they were back to normal. The frosty, bitter Sikeen was back. He shook his head, scoffing.

"Perhaps I should have. If you don't mind, I'd like to get at least a moment of rest tonight."

"Are you sending me back into your closet?" she asked, absently examining her nails. They'd gotten long, and she hated them that way.

"Shalafi," he reminded, cocking his head at her and smirking slightly. She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it.

"Are you sending me back into your closet, _Shalafi?_" she asked, glaring.

"Yes; unless you'd prefer to sleep elsewhere," he replied, content that she'd actually used the title for once. She was in his service, and using the title put a wall between them that he felt had to be there.

Her mind wandered to her nap from earlier, though she knew he was probably referring to her own quarters when he said 'elsewhere'. She realized then how tired she was, being awake for so long. She'd already gotten used to having a full night of rest with the potion he'd given her, after just three nights. She flashed him a weary, wry smile and silently made her way to the other side of his bed. "What are you doing?" he asked quickly, frowning. There was no way, absolutely _no_ way he could let her…

She didn't say a thing as she disappeared into his blanket again, curled into a tiny ball. She may as well have not even been there. "Sikeen. You can't sleep here." He coughed again. "Sikeen!" Her reply came only as her body burrowing further into the duvet. He let out a deep sigh and ran another hand through his hair. Gods, she was just over half his age! Could he possibly…?

Contemplating getting in his own bed with her right now felt like breaking some sort of unspoken, unwritten rule. She was in his service, but also under his care. If he got in bed, he'd be putting her in a compromising position, despite not wanting to do anything with her. And that felt… wrong.

But no, that wasn't exactly correct. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to – his thoughts became disjointed. Wasn't it only normal, for his mind to jump to that conclusion? Wasn't it only normal, to… want… to? That was what he felt was violation – the desire. She wouldn't be truly compromised; not with him. But she was violated, if he thought of it. His mind wandered to earlier, in the stairwell, when he'd so shamelessly provoked her. Somehow, that felt different. But how? What was different about that, really? He stared gravely across the bed, unsure."What if I were like Dalamar?" he whispered urgently, knowing she couldn't possibly be asleep already. Her reply came as a low, groggy mumble, muffled by the sheets and hovering over his bed.

"You wouldn't dare."

He gave up. It was useless. Why, _why_ was she hell-bent on trusting him? He didn't say another word as he curled up opposite her. The truth was she was right – he wouldn't dare. But – over a decade her senior and responsible for her well-being – he would contemplate it. He didn't know if he had it in him - to actually hurt her - but he definitely had the ability to pretend, as he had earlier, with his arms wrapped around her and her lips on his skin. And wasn't that heinous enough?

His mind jumped to Dalamar. She'd already felt true violation. She knew Raistlin wouldn't make her go through it again. So, to her… his desire was nothing. It paled in comparison to the breach of trust she'd felt the night before.

A familiar feeling welled up in his chest – something akin to pity. But no, this time it was full-fledged sadness. She'd been through enough not to care anymore.

She fell asleep, her breathing slow and even. And he stayed awake as long as he could, absently listening to her swim in the only peace she knew.


	11. Chapter 11

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- - : - - 11 - - : - -

He woke before dawn, as usual. Groggily, he pulled his robe over his bare shoulders and made his way to the kitchen. Raistlin had a habit of forcing himself to function on very little sleep. After brewing his tea and starting up the steps, he condemned this habit, as he usually did in the morning. Just like they always did, every bone in his body cried out for rest. He overworked himself; that much he knew. For what? Personal pleasure? Self-satisfaction? A deeply-rooted masochistic streak? It wasn't worth pondering, he decided.

By the time he was back in his room, all thoughts of going back to bed had disappeared. Instead, he remembered suddenly that Sikeen had stayed here. The curtains were still drawn, and he'd been quiet – she was probably still asleep. As if to confirm that she was, in fact, still there, he slowly made his way around the bed to where she was curled up under the blankets. Her closed eyes barely peeked out from the covers. From what he could tell, she looked… tranquil. So the potion he'd given her had been working.

She sighed slowly and the hair that had fallen over her face fluttered a bit with her breath. An inexplicable dread suddenly rushed through Raistlin. His thoughts felt muted in his head as he realized he couldn't look away, and the dread only intensified when he realized how disturbing his behavior was. If she were to wake right now, he'd have no explanation for himself. Feeling like a slave to the reflex, he gingerly pushed the hair from her face. Instantly, her head disappeared completely under the blanket. The corners of his mouth barely turned upward – she was skittish in her sleep.

Thanking Nuitari that she was still sound asleep, he let the backs of his fingers brush slowly against her hair, which still stuck out from under the covers. His heart dropped again. What was he _doing?_ He felt as if he'd lost control of himself, and some other force was determining his actions.

Was this what Dalamar had felt like?

Instantly, he drew his hand back and vanished into the stairwell. He'd stay in the library until he could forget the morning.

| - - : - - x - - : - - |

Figures shifted silently around her, impossible to distinguish from one another in the darkness. Her eyes couldn't move fast enough to follow them. Frustration formed a hard ball in her chest as she struggled to lift her arm, perhaps to reach out and catch one in her fist. It was no use. They moved too quickly.

Several slow heartbeats later, something sliced through the air toward her face. There was no way to brace herself – her body was too slow. Just before it cut through her skull, she sucked in a deep breath and awoke, sunlight flooding her vision. Blinking rapidly, she sat up straight and tried to remember where she was. Right. Raistlin's bed. She let her vision adjust completely and rubbed the sleep from her eyes before checking to see if he was still there.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Of course he was already out of bed. Across the room, he sat at his desk. He didn't glance up from his journal as he spoke.

"Perhaps time to go back to sleep," she mumbled, closing her eyes and pulling the blanket up to her shoulders. Raistlin sighed, putting his pencil down.

"It's half past one. You haven't eaten in two days."

"How unfortunate," she said absently, forcing herself to get out of bed. She knew what he wanted her to do. And he'd been hospitable enough. Suddenly, hiding out here felt cowardly, though she still paled at the thought of facing Dalamar. But she needed a change of clothes and scenery – after last night she was forced to consider the condition of her pride, not just her reflex to avoid her attacker at all costs.

She would avoid him anyway, somehow. But right now, in the cold light of day, she knew what she had to do.

Raistlin watched as she stretched, raising her arms high over her head with her back to him. Her shoulder blades pushed against her skin and Dalamar's shirt almost grotesquely. There was something fascinating about the way she didn't even look at him, didn't say a word, as she made her way to the door. Before exiting the room, she glanced over her shoulder and met his eyes for a single, loaded second. It wasn't until after she was gone that he realized what she'd meant to say. _This is what you wanted, right?_

The first thing she did was march down to her quarters. She needed a shower, desperately. As she reached the landing, she hesitated at the bottom of the steps. There was no sign of Dalamar – no footsteps, no shuffling of papers, nothing. Deeming it safe, she paced into her room and shut the door carefully behind her. It was empty, thank the gods. She half expected him to be waiting for her there.

When she was done, she carefully braided her hair and wrapped it around the top of her head. With her hair down, she felt exposed, in a way. She wore a deep blue tunic with short sleeves and gray pants, and then made her way to the kitchen. By now, she figured, she owed Raistlin at least one cup of tea.

She was adjusting her hair as she walked into the kitchen and immediately stopped in her tracks when she saw Dalamar at the table. To her surprise, he looked haggard. Instead of reading, his book lay face-down on the table as he stared hollowly into his omelet, picking at it. He looked up and his eye caught hers, sending a shudder down her spine.

There couldn't have been a more potent reminder of what he'd done. Now, when she looked at him, she could see nothing but the heartless gaze he'd given her as he pushed her onto the floor. It seemed to dwell there, beneath the tired look he had on his face now.

He didn't say anything at first, as if trying to figure out if she was really there. She almost turned around and left. Instead, she strode past him without giving him another glance, setting the water to boil.

"Where have you been?" he asked, staring at the back of her head. She didn't reply. "Sikeen, I'm sorry." She didn't look at him when she finally spoke.

"And you think that means something to me?" Silently, she thanked the gods that her voice didn't shake. She stared at the water. It was still. It had only been a few moments, after all.

He was speechless. How did one take back what he'd done? He approached her slowly, and she heard him coming. Her rage built up with every step she heard him take across the hardwood floor. Slowly, he reached out to touch her arm. It was a grave mistake.

She moved like lightning. As soon as his fingertips brushed her skin, her arm shot out and grabbed a knife from the counter. How had he overlooked that she could be armed in moments? She almost laughed at his stupidity as she shoved the blade into the side of his arm, expertly dodging the bone. She made sure to get his left arm, which she was sure was his dominant one. Killing him wouldn't teach him a lesson. She watched, delighted, as his eyes widened. The pain was spreading through his body in slow motion, flowering from the wound and making his brain tingle as internal alarms went off. His lips moved as if to say something but it was obvious he couldn't find a single word.

"How does it feel?" she said, leaning against the counter with a smirk on her face. "Did you consider us friends? How about after that?" The blade had gone straight through the muscle, emerging from the other side of his arm and leaking blood where it pierced his skin. She moved closer to him again, his face an inch from hers. Slowly, she reached for the blade's handle. His eyes widened further as his expression fell into raw horror. With great care, she twisted the blade ever so slightly, just a few degrees. A peculiar noise escaped his lips. _That's the sound of pain_, she thought happily before kneeing him in the groin with as much force as she could exert after two days of starving. Dalamar fell to his knees, finally letting out a roar of agony. "_How is it?"_ she shouted, a maniacal grin spread across her face. Upstairs, Raistlin blinked. Something was definitely going on in the kitchen.

If he'd succeeded in raping her, she decided, she would have killed him. But he'd stopped. So, for the sake of fairness, she leaned down to his level and drew the serrated blade out just as quickly as she'd pushed it in, and then tossed it in the sink. He screamed again and his other hand shot immediately to his wound, trying to quell the bleeding. She glanced at the water again. It was simmering slightly. "Oh! Dalamar, I'm so sorry. Sorry about that," she chirped. Nothing was quite as sweet as revenge. He looked up at her from the floor, desperation painted all over his features.

"Please," he whimpered, as if she could do something to help him.

"Please what? I'm not really in the business of _tending_ to wounds," she said with a dry laugh. "Don't you know the spell yourself? What kind of mage are you?" He let out another groan as the pain spiked once more – it didn't seem to be getting any better as the moments dragged on. Similar to when she was unconscious, his mind was under too much stress to recall the spell he needed to stop the bleeding. "Try Shalafi," she said dismissively, hunting for a mug. She was measuring out tea leaves when he finally managed to get out another phrase.

"I'm sorry," he hissed. This time, he meant it. She could hear it. She raised a brow at him, glancing over her shoulder with disgust.

"Oh, I know. Now you must be." The tea was finally brewing. She could watch him suffer for three minutes more, and then she would have to go back upstairs.

"_What_ have you done?!" Raistlin stood in the doorway, staring at Dalamar's slumped figure with more shock than she thought he was capable of feeling.

"It's just a flesh wound," she said casually, resisting the urge to laugh. Raistlin had killed hundreds of people during the war. But his apprentice doubled over in pain for five minutes had him _this_ concerned? It was comical. "He'll be fine."

"_When_ will he be fine?" He had a habit of stressing words of inquiry, she noticed, when he was tense. The fact that he was concerned about how long it would take Dalamar to heal also revealed why he was standing there in the first place. Dalamar was primarily his apprentice, but he was also his errand boy. Sikeen viciously fought back an amused grin.

"Dunno. Two weeks, maybe. Dalamar was breathing more evenly now, but he still remained on his knees on the floor, staring at the wood panels. "He's really looking better already."

Raistlin seemed to relax a bit at that, leaning against the doorway.

"Gods. Leave him," he said, peering at the blood splattered on Sikeen's shirt. She raised a brow at him.

"You're not going to heal him?" Dalamar used his good arm to grab the back of a chair. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet, but immediately returned his hand to the wound, horrified at the mess and still delirious from pain. He gave his master the same desperate look he'd given her. Raistlin met his eyes, indifferent.

"No." Dalamar's eyes drifted upward, as if asking the gods how this could be happening to him. "Dalamar, when you're less preoccupied, clean up the… carnage," said Raistlin, glancing distastefully at the stains on the wood. Sikeen scoffed as she heard him over her shoulder, sifting out the leaves and putting the teacup in a saucer. She paced carefully over to Raistlin and gave him the tea. As he took it from her hands, she glanced up at him. He looked regal again, like he had the night she'd met him. The black robes suited him, she decided. But when she met his eyes, he was giving her a look that seemed like a cross between disapproval, concern, and curiosity. Overall, he looked more or less uneasy with her. She returned his look with a slow, frosty smile.

He would have shuddered if he didn't possess such thorough control over himself. The look in her eyes was downright satanic sometimes. Dalamar deserved what had come to him – that much was clear. But the fact that Sikeen had taken revenge so quickly and expertly was something to be considered. Aside from that, it was a miracle in itself that she hadn't killed him. What was this – her idea of fairness? When he thought about it, it seemed more or less right.

And why hadn't Dalamar immediately fought back? He wasn't as strong as Raistlin, but he knew defensive spells. Did he, too, realize he deserved this? No, Raistlin knew the real reason. Though he hated to admit it, Dalamar had an inherent weakness for Sikeen. Whether it was platonic, romantic, or sexual was difficult to tell. He may have realized he deserved the wound, but he had taken what he deserved because deep down, he wanted Sikeen to have her revenge. He was truly sorry.

She noticed him looking over at Dalamar with a sort of cold thoughtfulness. What was he thinking? It was impossible to tell. Raistlin had a way of never quite looking critical. He always looked… open. Never welcoming, but willing to consider anything. As if nothing could truly surprise him. So in that moment, he could truly have been pondering anything at all.

Satisfied with her revenge and fed up with the dynamics in the room, she shoved past him. Instantly, he snapped out of his reverie.

"I haven't dismissed you." She was already in the stairwell.

"Pity," she called over her shoulder. Raistlin bristled. Before she could get halfway up the steps, he shoved her against the side of the stairwell, the Staff of Magius pressed against her collarbones horizontally. It cast its usual blue light over them both. Though it made Raistlin look eerie, it lit up her pale skin and eyes in a surprisingly flattering way. He pushed the thought out of his mind and glared at her, jaw tensed. She rolled her eyes, annoyed. "Sorry, Shalafi. Must've damaged your pride a bit with that one." The Staff pushed into her throat and she flattened herself further against the wall, the railing pressing uncomfortably against her lower back. He remained silent, his eyes boring holes into her skull. She stared back at him, confused. "If you're not going to teach me a lesson, why are you bothering with the restraint?"

She shifted slightly, slowly growing nervous. He wasn't like Dalamar – she couldn't just stab him in the arm and hope to get away with it. He could be casting a silent spell. Or he could be trying to decide what horrible fate to leave her to. The expression on his face was absolutely unreadable. As she squirmed, the Staff pressed more against her throat, making it harder to breathe. "Shalafi—" she choked, trying to maintain her aloof tone. It didn't work. He cocked his head at her, and she thought she caught a moment of approval on his face. The staff once again pressed forward. When she began to feel lightheaded, she decided it was time to act. Though he wasn't far enough away from her to build much leverage, she shoved him as hard as she could. He didn't budge. In fact, the staff only restrained her breathing even more. She gasped desperately, horrified. He wasn't going to use magic to kill her? It didn't make sense. Her chin involuntarily tilted upward as she gasped again, the rod forcing the base of her neck flat against the cold stone wall.

Just when she thought she would pass out, the pressure vanished. The Staff once again stood vertically by his side, but he didn't move. After she was done drawing in desperate breaths, she gaped at him, her heart still racing.

"You're at my mercy, Sikeen." He waited for her reply, which came through gritted teeth after a great deal of hesitation.

"Shalafi," she murmured, eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

"I trust you won't forget it." He disappeared up the steps, satisfied. It suddenly felt imperative to remind her of her place. Otherwise…

His mind jumped back to that morning, at dawn. How she'd disappeared under the blanket. The same dread he'd felt then welled up in his chest once again. It was still difficult to place why, exactly, the thought of her breaking down the wall between them made him so uneasy. Perhaps it was the same reason why he didn't want to get in bed last night. She was… young. And in his care. And horrifically unstable. He could think of a thousand reasons why they needed a solid barrier between them.

He kicked himself. Why did he even have to consider these things? It shouldn't be an issue. The fact that it _was_ an issue made him feel like he'd already done something wrong. And what was the issue, anyway? They were too close? She'd insisted on provoking him? She'd tried to kill him? It was difficult to put into words. He was having a hard time deciding what would happen if there wasn't a distinct space between them.

In the stairwell, Sikeen's hand floated idly up to her throat. He'd almost strangled her with that stupid stick he carried around. She glared after him as she heard him close his bedroom door at the top of both flights of stairs. Annoyed, she made her way to the library. So he wanted her respect. Fine. He'd get it.

Maybe _that_ would convince him to let her leave.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Guysss I need reviews. I'm dying over here. Pls.**

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Sikeen took a deep breath before opening the door to his quarters that evening. _Composure_, she reminded herself, throwing her shoulders back. She strode in confidently, put the saucer on his desk, and waited for him to dismiss her. He continued writing. Silently, she glanced downward. As usual, it was in an unfamiliar language. Somehow, it looked like he was writing the same thing over and over. She didn't comment, and continued waiting.

It was a solid three minutes before he glanced up.

"You're still here," he said, blinking. He seemed confused, at least for a moment before he pushed his silver hair from his eyes. The light reflecting off the hourglasses seemed to glint through his it. In moments, it had fallen right back to where it was.

"You haven't dismissed me," she replied as evenly as she could. Fighting off the urge to say something catty was even more difficult than she'd imagined.

"I assumed you would leave anyway." She took a deep breath, desperately holding onto her manners. He was referring to the incident from that morning. It was clear he was only mocking her with the excessive wait.

"I learned my lesson," she said with a stiff smile. His usual smug smile appeared. Instantly, she wanted to wipe it off his face. _Composure!_ He turned his chair toward her, giving her a long, arrogant look before speaking. She couldn't help but feel like a barmaid.

"'Shalafi,'" he added. It was no longer a matter of holding onto her manners, now she was actually trying not to squirm under his unnerving gaze.

"I learned my lesson, Shalafi," she managed, surprised at how easily the words came out. At least she didn't choke.

"Excellent. You're dismissed." She all but ran out of the room.

After the door shut behind her, Raistlin allowed himself a moment to laugh quietly to himself. It was the second time in a day he'd genuinely laughed, he realized. It was just too comical – she was such a character. Stabbing Dalamar, forcing herself to follow his rules, sacrificing her pride for a potential shot at escape… What a pity it was, he thought, that there was no escape in her future. She was trying so hard.

On her way down, she caught a glimpse of Dalamar just inside his suite. He'd left the door wide open. Her heart swelled a bit when she saw him struggling to tighten a bandage around his arm with his teeth. The horror was still in his eyes. Thrilled, she shot him a wicked grin before disappearing into her quarters.

At dawn the next day, she dragged herself out of bed. The kitchen was thankfully devoid of Dalamar, and she munched on a slice of plain white bread while she waited for the tea to brew. When it was done, she carefully made her way up the stairs and knocked on the door. There was no reply. After letting herself in, she peered around the room. He was nowhere to be found.

"Shalafi?" she asked, taking a tentative step forward.

"Leave it on the desk." He was emerging from the magnificent marble bathroom, tugging his shirt down over his chest. It was stark white. Surprised by the color, she almost didn't notice the water dripping from his hair and soaking the cloth. When that caught her eye, she only stared more. Gods, with the light pouring in from the windows… He was like a ghost. And it was stunning. He wiped water from his face and shook his bangs out of his face before noticing her gape. "Sikeen. The desk."

She snapped out of her reverie and stiffly marched to his desk, gingerly placing the tea down before turning back toward him, awaiting her dismissal. Instead of dismissing her, he coughed – the sound was slightly wet, as if his lungs were filling with liquid. Wincing, she shifted her weight to one side and looked away momentarily. He paced to the desk and took a sip, watching her over the edge of the cup. Feeling scrutinized, she held his gaze for as long as she could before breaking eye contact. She was sure he was looking right into her brain.

"Good morning," he said, smirking slightly. As usual, his voice was distinctly clearer after drinking the tea. He noticed how she squirmed when he stared at her, and it entertained him.

"Morning," she mumbled. "Shalafi," she added quickly. His amusement was obvious on his face, and she wondered what she'd done that seemed so funny to him. Resisting the urge to ask, she subconsciously took a step backward. He leaned against the desk, his hip pressed into its edge, as he took another long sip. She was _still_ on her best behavior.

"Seen Dalamar yet?" Her eyes seemed to light up, he noted.

"Yesterday. He was bandaging himself." He nodded pensively, still staring.

"I know what you're doing." She blinked at him and then drew in a slow breath.

"I don't know what you mean, Shalafi."

"I'm not going to let you leave. Didn't I tell you early on that your obedience won't win your freedom?" It was subtle, but he thought he might have seen her twitch slightly.

"Didn't I tell you—" She caught herself, starting again. "I'm not trying to convince you to let me leave; I just learned my lesson. I don't plan to die by your hand," she said, barely getting the words out. It was a flat-out lie, and one she hated having to tell. Why couldn't she just manipulate him into releasing her? She was so used to twisting others into fitting her whim.

He decided to try another angle. There was no way she would maintain this level of composure for a full conversation with him.

"You know, I've realized something. You're not really a killer, not naturally. So I wonder – what happened that could force you to turn to something so gruesome? Do you _feel_ regret? Do you realize what you're being punished for?" She recognized the glint in his eyes as he taunted her.

"I don't think about those things, Shalafi." Her jaw clenched as she resisted the urge to glare. Her mind was quickly going blank. She needed to get out of here.

As if granting her wish, he waved her away as he pulled out the desk chair.

"You're dismissed, then." As fast as she could, she escaped his quarters and sped down to her own, slamming the door behind her before crashing onto the floor, clutching her head. The room was spinning. Regret. Regret. The word repeated itself. After a while, it didn't sound like a word anymore, instead just taking the audible form of the numbness in her head. Regret. Regret. Regret.

_Do I regret?_ The words didn't make sense to her. Images of bodies flashed in her mind – of stillness where a heartbeat was absent on the skin. Cold, empty, heavenward stares. Fatherless children. Grieving parents. The lucky few who would live in fear for the rest of their lives.

One image in particular lingered longer than the others. It was of a blonde human girl, just her age. Sikeen had wondered why this one had to die. But she did, by her hand, and in her last moments she didn't beg for mercy. She didn't say anything at all, actually. She only gave her a curious look, as if asking why she was doing this. As if she'd seen that Sikeen hadn't wanted to.

And when she'd walked away, she'd taken the time to turn back to the body, reflecting that same questioning expression. Was that it? Regret?

She'd fallen back asleep, only to wake up in time for the next delivery. She hurriedly scraped herself off the floor and made her way to the kitchen. This time, Raistlin was in the library, sitting on the floor in one corner. Still in the blazing white shirt, he wasn't difficult to locate. It was strange seeing him there – she was so used to him being at a desk. Leaning against the wall next to a bookshelf, he looked more relaxed than usual. She was about to leave the tea on a table when he spoke, his eyes unwavering from the book in his hands.

"Give it here, Sikeen." Several dry coughs echoed in the room. Feeling some sense of inexplicable urgency, she approached him as quickly as she could and knelt before him, letting him take the cup from her hands. After taking a sip, he gave her a sort of appreciative nod. "Thanks," he mumbled, looking out from behind his fringe for a moment before turning back to his book. Sikeen was dumbfounded.

"Sorry?" Raistlin's grin was barely discernable.

"_Thank you._" She blinked at him.

"Er, you're welcome."

"Why the confusion?" It should have been obvious. He was messing with her, she realized.

"You never say thanks. It's shockingly modest of you." Immediately, she wished she could take that last bit back – she was trying to be respectful, after all.

"Or perhaps you're just easily confused." She fought back a glare.

"See – you're usually like that. That's what I'm used to."

"Like what?" That was a difficult question to answer without insulting him, and he knew it.

"Like… a shalafi." There. He couldn't possibly consider that offensive.

He was quiet for a moment, pondering this.

"And there's no such thing as a kind shalafi?" She laughed, amused at the prospect of Raistlin's _kindness._ Sick of kneeling, she leaned back against the wall beside him.

"Not in my life, no. Not for the _rest_ of my life." After zoning out for a moment, she glanced at him. He was giving her a curious look, resisting the temptation to point out how many times he'd shown her that yes, he could be kind. He'd lent her his cloak, he'd given her the sleeping potion, and he'd let her stay in his room for two solid days so she could hide from Dalamar. And he hadn't healed Dalamar when she'd taken her revenge on him – that had to count for something as well. Right?

"I'm really not that awful." She raised a brow at him. The dread washed over him again. Her fringe began to fall loose from the complicated braids on her head. That was the same hair he'd pushed out of her face yesterday morning. "I'm not," he added, in response to her expression.

"Then prove it sometime," she said, standing up. She could take _that_ much liberty, couldn't she? Once again, he fought the urge to argue. Arguing his own merits seemed a bit pathetic. "May I go?" He looked up at her from the floor, tossing his hair out of his face.

"No." She glared at the wall, tensing up. Was this really necessary? He'd already made her miserable in the morning.

"What was it, then, that you needed?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Dunno. Read something, if you like."

"Excuse me?" She wasn't going to sit here and _read something_. Not with him. And all these books were dreadful. He looked up, his expression unreadable.

"Sorry; did you have something pressing to get to?" _Touché_, she thought, focusing her glare at him before snatching something random off the shelf. Sighing, she sat back down, next to him.

"Happy?" she asked, flipping it open to someplace in the middle.

"Ecstatic," he replied pleasantly, turning a page. She spent a moment or two hunting for the sarcasm she was sure lay beneath the word, but there didn't seem to be any there. Confused, she redirected her attention to the riveting details of advanced tactile manipulation spells. She never made it to the next page. Within minutes, she was once again fast asleep.

Raistlin didn't notice right away, deeply engrossed in his own reading. It wasn't until the book fell from her hands that he realized just how bored she was. And probably tired, too – she seemed to be groggy until around sundown most days. Her head tipped in his direction and landed squarely on his shoulder, immediately beginning to slide down until she was resting comfortably on his leg. His breath caught. Was this deliberate? Or was she really sleeping?

"Sikeen?" he asked, frozen. She mumbled something and pulled her legs closer to her body. "Sikeen, wake up." This time, she didn't even reply. Defeated, he rested his head against the wall behind him, letting his own book fall to his side. Making her stay was a horrible idea. Now he couldn't move without disturbing her.

Was that really an issue? He wasn't sure. It definitely shouldn't have been. What did he care if she woke up?

Either way, did he even have plans to move? He hadn't even thought of it until she'd passed out on him. Sighing, he picked up his book again. For now, he'd read. When he was done, he could figure out what to do with her.

She ended up waking before he even wanted to move. It was just an hour later when she shifted slightly before opening her eyes, confused._ Where…_ She looked around, realizing she was on the floor. And there was a leg beneath her. And something warm on top of her – that was why she'd woken up, she realized. It was too hot.

_The robe._ And there was something under the robe, resting on her side.

"You're awake," muttered Raistlin, once again speaking while continuing to read. Gods, it was his arm. That was his hand on her hip. Her blood boiled, and not just because of the temperature.

"Shalafi. Is there a _reason_ why I'm wrapped up in your robe?"

"You fell asleep," was his only reply. She pursed her lips, unmoving, but he could feel her tense up.

"Obviously!" she cried, sitting up abruptly. She was just inches from his face, her eyes wide with confusion.

"Save me the ire, elf. You were freezing. The whole tower, if you hadn't noticed, is freezing."

"You're—" She stopped, not sure what, exactly, to say.

"My what? Or did you mean to state something more about my inherently evil nature?" Though he sounded casual, he was surprised, once again, at how hard it was for her to accept that he could be good to her. For whatever reason, she was hell-bent on believing he was nothing but reprehensible. For God's sake, he'd just covered her with his cloak for the second time. Did he really deserve this from her?

Slowly, she began to understand what he was implying. He was referring to what she'd said earlier about how he could never be kind. Of course.

"Did you forget the part where you tried to kill me after finding Dalamar in the kitchen?" she spat.

"Please. The only way to drive a point through that thick skull is to use violence, apparently. Do you really think I'd have killed you without magic?" The smirk on his face was more than just taunting – it was clear that he was actually angry, at least a little bit.

"You were trying to scare me. Kindness doesn't come packaged with cruelty, Shalafi!" she retorted.

"I was putting up a _wall." _She frowned, not sure what to make of that. He mirrored her confusion, realizing he probably shouldn't have put it like that. Why had he said that?

"What?"

"Never mind. You're dismissed," he said, drawing his cloak closer to him and turning back to his book.

"No. Why were you 'putting up a wall'?" The only way to get answers out of him was to insist. At first, he didn't reply. "Shalafi!" Annoyed, she snatched the book out of his hand. All attempts to be respectful had long since been abandoned, apparently. He glared at her, hating her persistence.

"You're barely twenty, and you act younger. You're in my care, and you're less stable than a house of cards." When he didn't continue, she realized _that_ was supposed to answer her question.

"Go on," she said, snapping the book shut. He winced, seeing that she'd lost his page.

"Give me the book."

"Go on!" she repeated, delighting in his discomfort. She made a mental note to take his books more often. He raised a brow at her.

"You _really_ need me to spell that out for you?"

It was a long, loaded moment before she figured out what he was trying to say. He wanted a wall between them because he was afraid of… No. That was absurd. There was no way he was actually concerned about getting so close to her that—

And he'd almost strangled her because—

_Oh._

"That really shouldn't be a concern of yours," she said nonchalantly, dropping the book back in his lap. "I'd never be interested in you." She flashed him a frigid grin before briskly getting to her feet, making her way to the door. He spoke as she was walking away, and what he said made her heart drop.

"That isn't what I was worried about." He said it the same way he told her to leave the tea on his desk. Unable to resist, she spoke over her shoulder.

"So what was it that you were worried about?"

"You're dismissed, Sikeen." It was clear to her that he wouldn't be speaking about it anymore. Annoyed, she slammed the door behind her.


	13. Chapter 13

AN: I'd like to express my thanks to my wonderful reviewers. Thanks especially to my anonymous guest reviewer, who is checking for updates every day. I love to hear that people are waiting for chapters – it keeps me motivated! Sorry this one didn't come out sooner. I've been devoting fic time to my Harry Potter story, and I was a little confused about how to go about writing this chapter. I think you'll appreciate it though. ;D

b - l - a - d - e' - s - - e - d - g - e

- - : - - 13 - - : - -

The rest of the day passed without incident. It wasn't until after she'd delivered the last cup of tea for the day when her mind wandered to the conversation she'd had with Raistlin earlier. From what she could gather, he was afraid of falling in love with her. Or at least, he was afraid of being attracted to her. So maybe…

Her entire body froze as realization dawned on her. If he was afraid of it, he already was attracted to her. She knew men well enough. And this could _absolutely_ be used to her advantage.

"_I'd never be interested in you."_

"_That isn't what I was worried about."_

She could hear the words in her mind as clearly as if he were before her right then. Oddly enough, it was Dalamar's voice she thought of next.

"_And how _is_ the seduce-Shalafi-to-escape plan going?"_

Suddenly, she was resolute. Being respectful to him wasn't even necessary. She'd essentially already won her escape. All she had to do now was ask for it – nicely. Feeling satisfied, she finished her braid and neatly tied it off. This would take a little bit of planning, but escape suddenly seemed in the realm of possibility.

Her heart skipped a beat.

But despite her realization, she still spent the next few days on her best behavior, observing him just to make sure. He didn't betray much, but she caught him watching her curiously sometimes out of the corner of her eye. This became more and more obvious as the days went by. It wasn't until a week had passed that he brought it up.

"I'm not sure if I like this," he said, leaning back in his chair. He took a sip of his tea. Arrogance dripped from his every move. Gods, how did someone make superiority look so effortless? It was almost attractive.

"Not sure if you like what, Shalafi?" she replied. Though it was still difficult, the title came to her lips far more easily now. He sighed, starting again.

"I've noticed you're quite… tame. Recently." She cocked her head at him slightly, wondering what, exactly, he was trying to say.

"I suppose there's no reason for disobedience, is there?"

"No, I suppose not. But you bore me," he said with a smirk. The glare he was so used to flickered for a moment in her eyes.

"What would you have me do?" she asked, her jaw tensed slightly. He just had a wonderful time provoking her. For a moment, she thought she might have to review her theory – maybe he wasn't attracted to her at all.

She realized the theory was fine as it was when he looked away quickly, to his left. A telltale sign that he was hiding something.

"Never mind. You're dismissed," he said, turning back to his desk. She frowned, taking a step toward him.

"Shalafi," she said quietly.

"You're dismissed, Sikeen," he repeated. She glared, hating how he pushed her away when she had something to say.

"Raistlin." He froze for a moment before turning to look at her slowly. There was just a slight hint of bewilderment on his face. Obviously, he was surprised. She hadn't made that mistake in a long time. This time, however, it wasn't a mistake. He still didn't move as she took several more steps toward him. She leaned down with one hand on either side of the chair, her eyes hard. He could smell her shampoo again. He was about to open his mouth to say something when she continued.

"I know you're in love with me." The words hovered between them, unforgiving. Those massive, eerie blue eyes stared. They demanded truth. Raistlin was not an easy man to crack, but he felt himself slipping then. She'd spoken with complete, unadulterated confidence. She'd gotten inside his head. She _knew._

And it wasn't until then that he knew himself, because the way she'd said it made him understand. Somewhere down the line…

He'd made a horrible mistake.

But it was too late to correct, and he couldn't bring himself to remember a single magical word as she drifted closer to him. In fact, his mind was absolutely blank until the moment their lips finally touched.

He'd never heard his own heart beat so fast. One hand drifted up to her hair and he let his fingers stroke it gently once more. It still felt like silk to him, even if it did look unkempt. It was barely a moment later when she pulled away slightly, her eyes opening again to meet his. Even with the hourglasses, symbols of his nearly limitless power, he looked absolutely startled. He surprised them both when he managed to speak.

"This isn't right." His voice was remarkably even. She thought he would push her away and she would have said something if he hadn't leaned up just then to meet her lips again. It wasn't quite as gentle as hers; Raistlin's kiss was demanding. In it, she could feel anger – perhaps because she'd forced him to come to terms with himself. Despite herself, a low groan escaped her throat. She wasn't sure how, exactly, but she found herself lowered over him onto the chair.

She was _straddling_ the most powerful mortal being.

Breathless, she pulled away again.

"No. No, it's not," she said quickly. He still looked shocked, even after kissing her so aggressively. Gods, she was supposed to have control over this situation. It wasn't supposed to be like this, with her arms wrapped around him like she meant it. She wasn't supposed to be looking at him like she meant it.

"Then what are you doing?" he asked, bewildered.

She jumped away from him like he'd caught fire, straightening her shirt.

"Nothing. It was a mistake. Sorry," she said quickly. He cocked her head at her, frowning slightly. It was clear on his face that he was confused. Horribly, utterly confused. Yet, somehow, he still managed a degree of finesse she hadn't imagined he could possess. She was reminded suddenly of when she'd taunted him in the stairwell, whispering in his ear. He hadn't even flinched. And, though he was surprised now, he _still_ hadn't flinched. He looked away, drawing in a slow, deep breath.

"My mistake," he said reluctantly. Once again, she realized he was struggling with something he hadn't mentioned to her. She crossed her arms and furiously fought back a blush. "I shouldn't have let you—" He stopped himself. "That is, I shouldn't have…"

Her brow furrowed. She didn't want him to continue. She didn't want to know why she wasn't good enough for him, or whatever it was. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe he truly didn't care about her. Dejected, she whirled around on her heel and darted out of the room.

Raistlin, meanwhile, stared after her. Even if it didn't show on his face, he was absolutely stunned. Had she really...? He could still feel the tingle on his lips from hers, and her hair under his fingers. It wasn't until then that he allowed himself a slight blush. It didn't make sense. Why would she suddenly come onto him like that?

Oh, right. He'd told her.

"_I know you're in love with me."_

She wanted escape.

Did she really think he'd let her go after that?

| - - : - - x - - : - - |

Later at night, Sikeen was having a hard time sleeping. She couldn't remember throwing herself into a kiss like that before. It shocked her, how easily she gave into him.

"_This isn't right."_ That was what he'd said before leaning in for that heated, forceful kiss. She should have predicted he would have that kind of aggression in him. He was used to control. And he had a starving, rampant curiosity engrained in him that obviously applied to every part of his life, arcane or not.

She curled up, pulling the blanket closer around her. Why had she let him kiss her again? The whole point of approaching him like that had been to force him to accept that he was in love with her. Maybe she'd accomplished that goal, but she'd also given him some part of herself. With her arms wrapped around him, she'd felt vulnerable, in a way. And that was definitely not part of the plan.

Was she in over her head? She often felt like she was. He was so powerful – more powerful than she could have imagined. That hadn't really been clear to her until tonight. Before, she'd lost to him in battles of control and intimidation, but this… This was different. She'd lost something else to him. She sighed, frustrated. She was already imprisoned underneath him for the rest of her life. What more control could he possibly have over her?

As dawn approached, she grew weary. Soon, she would have to go see him again, and she wasn't ready for that. Not so soon after that awkward encounter. But if she didn't bring him the tea, his cough would come back. Reluctantly, she dragged herself out of bed. Tipping her hat to Conclave for succeeding in ensuring her misery, she padded down to the kitchen. Her hand shook as she poured the water. From weakness or nervousness, she didn't know.

The kitchen always housed a peculiar sort of light at that time. It hovered somewhere between the yellow, sunny glow of day and the darkness of the night. As she peered around at the old wooden table and appliances, she began to feel a sort of warmth overtake her. How many days had she spent here so far? It was impossible to tell, but somehow, it was slowly becoming familiar. Safe.

Home.

She sighed, shoving the thoughts from her mind. She was Sikeen Tirmedhi, and she was above this place. Suddenly, the door opened. There stood Dalamar, who seemed surprised to see her.

"Sikeen." His only greeting was her name. Immediately after it left his lips, he glanced to the counter. The knife was gone, but he knew he'd be foolish to think she couldn't arm herself with anything at all. Slowly, he took a step backward.

"Scared of me now, are you? Don't worry, Dalamar the Dull, I've taken my revenge." She flashed him a saccharine grin. "You have nothing to fear." His skin crawled. The pain in his arm was still there, and only slightly less sharp than it had been the day he received the wound. The healing process was remarkably slow. "What are you doing here? It's early."

"I didn't know you'd be here. Honest. But I was hoping…" he trailed off, losing his thoughts in her vacant, frigid stare.

"What? If you haven't noticed, I've got something to take care of." He cleared his throat, still safely on the other side of the doorway.

"I just want things to be as they were again. I was hoping I didn't damage our friendship beyond repair. I suppose I got used to… you," he finished awkwardly. She pursed her lips at him.

"What are you willing to do, then?" He looked a bit taken aback at this.

"Sorry?" She sighed, rolling her eyes and taking a few swift steps toward him.

"Here," she said, shoving the tea in his hands. "Take this to him."

"I'm not going to—" He stopped abruptly when she fixed him with her usual ice-cold stare. Startled, he immediately turned on his heel and started up the steps. Satisfied with herself, Sikeen returned to her room. That had been easy enough.

Maybe she could get Dalamar to take care of all her tea responsibilities. That way, she could just live as a ghost in the Tower, and Raistlin would never see or hear her again. That wouldn't be so bad, considering the other alternative.

But what _was_ the other alternative? Finding out what might happen if she stayed close to him?

She wasn't sure if that was a door she was willing to open.


End file.
